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The Improvisators 

Translated from the Danish of 

Hans Christian Andersen. 




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TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH OF 

1/ 

Hans Christian Andersen. 

r I 


BY MARY HOWITT, 

t 



WITH ILL US TEA TIONS B Y HA BB Y C. ED WABDS. 



ROBERT 


' 

NEW YORK: 

BONNER’S SONS, 



'jk '°J\ i 


> 


PUBLISHERS. 


THE LEDGER Lj&RARY : ISSUED SEMI-MONTHLY. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, TWELVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. 38, 
JUNE 1 # 1891, ENTERED AT THE NEW YORK, N. Y., POST QFF|CE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER. 






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A 5"44 




Copyright, 1891, 

By ROBERT BONNER’S SONS 


(All rights reserved .) 


PRE88 OF 

THE NEW YORK LEDGER, 
NEW YORK. 


THE IMPROVISATORE. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF MY CHILDHOOD. 



HOEVER has been in Rome is well 
acquainted with the Piazza Barber- 
ina, in the great square, with the 
beautiful fountain, where the Tritons empty the spout- 
ing conch-shell, from which the water springs upwards 
many feet. Whoever has not been there, knows it, at 
all events, from copperplate engravings ; only it is a 
pity that in these the house at the corner of the Via 
Felice, is not given, that tall corner-house, where the 


8 


The Improvisatore . 


water pours through three pipes out of the wall down 
into a stone basin. That house has a peculiar interest 
for me ; it was there that I was born. If I look back 
to my tender youth, such a crowd of bright remem- 
brances meet me, that I scarcely know where to begin ; 
when I contemplate the whole drama of my life, still 
less do I know what I should bring forward, what I 
should pass over as unessential, and what points may 
suffice to represent the whole picture. That which 
appears attractive to me may not be so to a stranger. 
I will relate truly and naturally the great story, but 
then vanity must come into play — the wicked vanity, 
the desire to please. Already, in my childhood, it 
sprung up like a plant, and, like the mustard-seed of the 
Gospel, shot forth its branches towards heaven, and 
became a mighty tree, in which my passions builded 
themselves nests. 

One of my earliest recollections points thereto. I 
was turned six years old, and was playing in the neigh- 
borhood of the Church of the Capuchins, with some 
other children, who were all younger than myself. 
There was fastened on the church-door a little cross of 
metal ; it was fastened about the middle of the door, 
and I could just reach it with my hand. Always when 
our mothers had passed by with us they had lifted us 
up that we might kiss the holy sign. One day, when 
we children were playing, one of the youngest of them 
inquired, “ Why the child Jesus did not come down and 
play with us ?” I assumed an air of wisdom, and replied, 
that he was really bound upon the cross. We went to 
the church door, and, although we found no one, we 
wished, as our mothers had taught us, to kiss him, but 
we could not reach up to it ; one, therefor, lifted up the 
other, but just as the lips were pointed for the kiss, that 
one who lifted the other lost his strength, and the kiss- 


The Improvisator e. 


9 


ing one fell down just when his lips were about to touch 
the invisible child J esus. At that moment my mother 
came by, and when she saw our child’s-play, she folded 
her hands, and said, “ You are actually some of God’s 
angels ! And thou art mine own angel !” added she, 
and kissed me. 

I heard her repeat to a neighbor what an innocent 
angel I was, and it pleased me greatly, but it lessened 
my innocence — the mustard-seed of vanity drank in 
therefrom the first sunbeams. Nature had given to me 
a gentle, pious character, but my good mother made me 
aware of it ; she showed me my real and my imaginary 
endowments, and never thought that it is with the 
innocence of the child as with the basilisk, which dies 
when it sees itself. 

The Capuchin monks, Fra Martino, was my mother’s 
confessor, and she related to him what a pious child I 
was. I also knew several prayers very nicely by heart, 
although I did not understand one of them. He made 
very much of me, and gave me a picture of the Virgin 
weeping tears, which fell like rain-drops down into the 
burning flames of hell, where the damned caught this 
draught of refreshment. He took me over with him into 
the convent, where the open colonnade, which inclosed 
within a square the little potato-garden, with the two 
cypress and orange-trees, made a very deep impression 
upon me. Side by side, in the open passages, hung old 
portraits of deceased monks, and on the door of each 
cell were pasted pictures from the history of the 
martyrs, which I contemplated with the same holy 
reverence as afterwards the master-pieces of Raphael 
and Andrew del Sarto. 

“ Thou art really a bright youth,” said he ; “ thou 
shalt now see the dead.” 

Upon this, he opened a little door of a gallery which 


IO 


The Improvisatore . 


lay a few steps below the colonnade. We descended, 
and now I saw round about me skulls upon skulls, so 
placed one upon another that they formed walls, and 
therewith several chapels. In these were regular 
niches, in which were seated perfect skeletons of the 
most distinguished of the monks, enveloped in their 
brown cowls, and with a breviary or a withered bunch 
of flowers in their hands. Altars, chandeliers, and 
ornaments, were made of shoulder-bones and vertebrae, 
with bas-reliefs of human joints, horrible and tasteless 
as the whole idea. 

I clung fast to the monk, who whispered a prayer, 
and then said to me : 

“ Here also I shall some time sleep ; wilt thou thus 
visit me ?” 

I answered not a word, but looked horrified at him, 
and then round about me upon the strange, grisly 
assembly. It was foolish to take me, a child, into this 
place. I was singularly impressed by the whole thing, 
and did not feel myself again easy until I came into his 
little cell, where the beautiful yellow oranges almost 
hung in at the window, and I saw the brightly colored 
picture of the Madonna, who was borne upwards by 
angels into the clear sunshine, while a thousand flowers 
filled the grave in which she had rested. 

This, my first visit to the convent, occupied my 
imagination for a long time, and stands yet with extra- 
ordinary vividness before me. This monk seemed to 
me quite a different being to any other person whom 
I knew ; his abode in the neighborhood of the dead, 
who, in their brown cloaks, looked almost like himself, 
the many histories which he knew and could relate of 
holy men and wonderful miracles, together' with my 
mother’s great reverence for his sanctity, caused me to 
begin thinking whether I too could not be such a man. 


The Improvisator e. 


1 1 


My mother was a widow, and had no other means of 
subsistence than what she obtained by sewing, and by 
the rent of a large room which we ourselves had 
formerly inhabited. We lived now in a little chamber 
in the roof, and a young painter, Federigo, had the 
saloon, as we called it. He was a life-enjoying, brisk 
young man, who came from a far, far country, where 
they knew nothing about the Madonna and the child 
Jesus, my mother said. He was from Denmark. I 
had at that time no idea that there existed more lan- 
guages than one, and I believed, therefore, that he was 
deaf when he did not understand me, and, for that 
reason, I spoke to him as loud as I could ; he laughed 
at me, often brought me fruit, and drew for me soldiers, 
horses, and houses. We soon became acquainted ; I 
loved him much, and my mother said many a time that 
he was a very upright person. 

In the meantime I heard a conversation one evening 
between my mother and the monk Fra Martino, which 
excited in me a sorrowful emotion for the young artist. 
My mother inquired if this foreigner would actually be 
eternally condemned to hell. 

“He and many other foreigners also,” she said, “ are 
indeed, very honest people, who never do anything 
wicked. They are good to the poor, pay exactly, and 
at the fixed time ; nay, it actually often seems to rqe 
that they are not such great sinners as many of us.” 

“ Yes,” replied Fra Martino, “ that is very true — 
they are often very good people ; but do you know how 
that happens ? You see, the devil, who goes about 
the world, knows that the heretics will some time 
belong to him, and so he never tempts them ; and, 
therefore, they can easily be honest, easily give up sin ; 
on the contrary, a good Catholic Christian is a child of 
God, and, therefore, the Devil sets his temptations in 


12 


The Improvisatore . 


array against him, and we weak creatures are subjected. 
But a heretic, as one may say, is tempted neither of the 
flesh nor the Devil J” 

To this my mother could make no reply, and sighed 
deeply over the poor young man ; I began to cry, for it 
seemed to me that it was a cruel sin that he should be 
burned eternally — he who was so good, and who drew 
me such beautiful pictures. 

A third person who played a great part in my child- 
hood’s life, was Uncle Peppo, commonly called “ Wicked 
Peppo,” or “ the King of the Spanish Steps,”* where he 
had his daily residence. Born with two withered legs, 
which lay crossed under him, he had had from his 
earliest childhood an extraordinary facility in moving 
himself forwards with his hands. These he stuck 
under a frame which was fastened at both ends to a 
board, and, by the help of this, he could move himself 
forward almost as easily as any other person with 
healthy and strong feet. He sat daily, as has been said, 
upon the Spanish Steps, never indeed begging, but 
exclaiming, with a crafty smile, to every passer-by, 
“ bon giorno ?” and that even after the sun was gone 
down. 

My mother did not like him much, nay, indeed, she 
was ashamed of the relationship, but, for my sake, as 
she often told me, she kept up a friendship with him. 
He had that in his chest which we others must look 
after, and if I kept good friends with him I should be 
his only heir, if he did not give it to the Church. He 
had, also, after his own way, a sort of liking for me, yet 


* These lead from the Spanish Place up to Monte Pincio, a 
broad flight of stone steps. These, which consist of four flights, 
are an especial resort of the beggars of Rome, and, from their 
locality, bear the name of the Spanish Steps. — Author s Note . 


The Improvisator e. 


13 


I never felt myself quite happy in his neighborhood. 
Once I was the witness of a scene which awoke in me 
fear of him, and also exhibited his own disposition 
Upon one of the lowest flights of stairs sat an old blind 
beggar, and rattled with his little leaden box that 
people might drop a bajocco therein. Many people 
passed by my uncle without noticing his crafty smile 
and the wavings of his hat ; the blind man gained more 
by his silence — they gave to him. Three had gone by, 
and now came the fourth, and threw him a small coin. 
Peppo could no longer contain himself ; I saw how he 
crept down like a snake, and struck the blind man in 
his face, so that he lost both money and stick. 

“ Thou thief !” cried my uncle, “ wilt thou steal money 
from me — thou who art not even a regular cripple ? 
Cannot see ! that is all his infirmity ! and so he will 
take my bread from my mouth !” 

I neither heard nor saw more, but hastened home 
with the flask of wine which I had been sent to pur- 
chase. On the great festival days I was always obliged 
to go with my mother to visit him at his own house ; 
we took with us one kind of present or other, either fine 
grapes or preserved golden pippins, which were his 
greatest luxury. I was then obliged to kiss his hand 
and call him uncle ; then he smiled so strangely, and 
gave me a half-bajocco, always adding the exhortation 
that I should keep it to look at, not spend it in cakes, 
for when these were eaten I had nothing left, but that 
if I kept my coin I should always have something. 

His dwelling was dark and dirty ; in one little room 
there was no window at all, and in the other it was 
almost up to the ceiling with broken and patched up 
panes. Of furniture there was not one article, except a 
great wide chest, which served him for a bed, and two 
tubs, in which he kept his clothes. I always cried when 


H 


The Improvisatore. 


I had to go there ; and true it is, however much my 
mother persuaded me to be very affectionate towards 
him, yet she always made use of him as a bugbear when 
she would punish me ; she said then that she would 
send me to my dirty uncle, that I should sit and sing 
beside him upon the stairs, and thus do something use- 
ful, and earn a bajocco. But I knew that she never 
meant so ill by me ; I was the apple of her eye. 

On the house of our opposite neighbor there was an 
image of the Virgin, before which a lamp was always 
burning. Every evening when the bell rang the Ave 
Maria, I and the neighbors’ children knelt before it, 
and sang in honor of the mother of God, and the pretty 
child Jesus, which they had adorned with ribands, beads, 
and silver hearts. By the wavering lamp-light it often 
seemed to me as if both mother and child moved 
and smiled upon us. I sang with a high, clear voice ; 
and people said that I sang beautifully. Once there 
stood an English family and listened to us ; and, when 
we rose up from our knees, the gentleman gave me a 
silver piece ; “ it was,” my mother said, “ because of my 
fine voice.” But how much distraction did this after- 
wards cause me ! I thought no longer alone on the 
Madonna when I sung before her image ; no ! I 
thought, did any one listen to my beautiful singing ? 
but always when I thought so, there succeeded a burn- 
ing remorse. I was afraid that she would be angry 
with me ; and I prayed right innocently that she would 
look down upon me, poor child ! 

The evening-song was, in the meantime, the only 
point of union between me and the other neighbors’ 
children. I lived quietly, entirely in my own self- 
created dream-world ; I lay for hours *upon my back, 
with my face to the open window, looking out into the 
wonderful, gloriously blue Italian heaven, into the 


The Improvisatore. 


*5 


play of colors at the going down of the sun, when the 
clouds hung with their violet-hued edges upon a golden 
ground. Often I wished that I could fly far beyond 
the Quirinal and the houses, to the great pine-trees, 
which stood like black shadow-figures against the fire- 
red horizon. I had quite another scene on the other 
side of our room : there lay our own and our neigh- 
bors’ yards, each a small, narrow space, inclosed by tall 
houses, and almost shut in from above by the great 
wooden balconies. In the middle of each yard there 
was a well inclosed with masonry, and the space 
between this and the walls of the houses was not greater 
than to admit of one person moving round. Thus, 
from above, I looked properly only into two deep wells ; 
they were entirely overgrown with that fine plant which 
we call Venus’-hair, and which, hanging down, lost 
itself in the dark depth. It was to me as if I could see 
deep down into the earth, where my fancy then created 
for herself the strangest pictures. In the meantime, 
my mother adorned that window with a great rod, to 
show me what fruit grew for me there, that I might not 
fall down and get drowned. 

But I will now mention an occurrence which might 
easily have put an end to my life’s history before it had 
come into any entanglement. 



CHAPTER II. 

THE VISIT TO THE CATACOMBS — I BECOME A CHORISTER 

— THE LOVELY ANGEL-CHILD — THE IMPROVISATORE. 

Our lodger, the young painter, took me with him 
sometimes on his little rambles beyond the gates, j 
did not disturb him whilst he was making now and then 
a sketch ; and when he had finished he amused himself 
with my prattle, for he now understood the language. 

Once before I had been with him to the curia hostilia , 
deep down into the dark caves where, in ancient days, 
wild beasts were kept for the games, and where inno- 
cent captives were thrown to ferocious hyaenas and 
lions. The dark passages ; the monk who conducted 
us in, and continually struck the red torch against the 
walls ; the deep cistern in which the water stood as 
clear as a mirror — yes, so clear that one was obliged to 
move it with the torch to convince one’s self that it was 
up to the brim, and that there was no empty space, as 
by its clearness there seemed to be — all this excited my 
imagination. Fear, I felt none, for I was unconscious 
of danger. 

“ Are we going to the caverns ?” I inquired from him, 
as I saw at the end of the street the higher part of the 
Colosseum. 

“ No, to something much greater,” replied he ; “ where 
thou shalt see something ! And I will paint thee, also, 
my fine fellow !” 


The Improvisator e. 


17 


Thus wandered we farther, and even farther, between 
the white walls, the inclosed vineyards, and the old 
ruins of the baths, till we were out of Rome. The sun 
burned hotly, and the peasants had made for their 
wagons roofs of green branches, under which they 
slept, while the horses, left to themselves, went at a 
foot’s pace, and ate from the bundle of hay which hung 
beside them for this purpose. At length we reached 
the grotto of Egeria, in which we took our breakfast, 
and mixed our wine with the fresh water that streamed 
out from between the blocks of stone. The walls and 
vault of the whole grotto were inside covered over with 
the finest green, as of tapestry, woven of silks and 
velvet, and round about the great entrance hung the 
thickest ivy, fresh and luxuriant as the vine foliage in 
the valleys of Calabria. 

Not many paces from the grotto stands, or rather 
stood, for there are now only a few remains of it left, a 
little, and wholly desolate house, built above one of the 
descents to the catacombs. These were, as is well 
known, in ancient times, connecting links between 
Rome and the surrounding cities ; in later times, how- 
ever, they have in part fallen in, and in part been built 
up, because they served as concealment for robbers and 
smugglers. The entrance through the burial vaults in 
St. Sebastian’s Church, and this one through the deso- 
late house, were then the onl}~ two in existence ; and I 
almost think that we were the last who descended by 
this, for, shortly after our adventure, it also was shut 
up ; and only the one through the church, under the 
conduct of a monk, remains now open to strangers. 

Deep below, hollowed out of the soft puzzolan earth, 
the one passage crosses another. Their multitude, their 
similarity one to another, are sufficient to bewilder even 
him who knows the principal direction. I had formed 


The Improvisator e. 


no idea of the whole, and the painter felt so confident, 
that he had no hesitation in taking me, the little boy, 
down with him. He lighted his candle, and took 
another with him in his pocket, fastened a ball of twine 
to the opening where we descended, and our wandering 
commenced. Anon the passages were so low that I 
could not go upright ; anon they elevated themselves to 
lofty vaults, and, where the one crossed the other, 
expanded themselves into great quadrangles. We 
passed through the Rotunda with the small stone altar 
in the middle, where the early Christians, persecuted by 
the Pagans, secretly performed their worship. Federigo 
told me of the fourteen popes, and the many thousand 
martyrs, who here lie buried : we held the light against 
the great cracks in the tombs, and saw the yellow bones 
within.* We advanced yet some steps onward, and 
then came to a stand, because we were at the end of the 
twine. The end of this Federigo fastened to his button- 
hole, stuck the candle among some stones, and then 
began to sketch the deep passage. I sat close beside 
him upon one of the stones ; he had desired me to fold 
my hands and to look upwards. The light was nearly 
burnt out, but a whole one lay hard by ; besides which 
he had brought a tinder-box, by the aid of which he 
could light the other in case this suddenly went out. 

My imagination fashioned to itself a thousand won- 
derful objects in the infinite passages which opened 
themselves, and revealed to us an impenetrable dark- 


* The monumental stones here are without any ornament ; on 
the contrary, one finds in the catacombs at Naples the images of 
saints, and inscriptions, but all very indifferently done. On the 
graves of the Christians a fish is figured, in the Greek name of which 
occur the initial letters of ('h/dous Xpidrot, Geov vioi dGorr/p) 
Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Redeemer. — Author's Note . 


The Improvisator e . 


19 


ness. All was quite still, the falling water drops alone 
sent forth a monotonous sound. As I thus sat, wrapped 
in my own thoughts, I was suddenly terrified by my 
friend the painter, who heaved a strange sigh, and 
sprang about, but always in the same spot. Every 
moment he stooped down to the ground, as if he would 
snatch up something, then he lighted the larger candle 
and sought about. I became so terrified at his singular 
behavior, that I got up and began to cry. 

“ For God’s sake, sit still, child !” said he — “ for God 
in heaven’s sake !” and again he began staring on the 
ground. 

“ I will go up again !” I exclaimed — “ I will not stop 
down here !” I then took him by the hand and strove 
to draw him with me. 

“ Child ! child ! thou art a noble fellow !” said he ; “ I 
will give' thee pictures and cakes — here, thou hast 
money !” And he took his purse out of his pocket, and 
gave me all that was in it : but I felt that his hand was 
ice-cold and that he trembled. On this I grew more 
uneasy, and called my mother ; but now he seized me 
firmly by the shoulder, and, shaking me violently, said 
— “ I will beat thee if thou art not quiet !” Then he 
bound a pocket-handkerchief round my arm, and held 
me fast, but bent himself down to me the next moment, 
kissed me vehemently, called me his dear little 
Antonio, and whispered, “ Do thou also pray to the 
Madonna !” 

“ Is the string lost ?” I asked. 

“We will find it — we will find it !” he replied, and 
began searching again. In the meantime the lesser 
light was quite burnt out, and the larger one, from its 
continual agitation, melted and burnt his hand, which 
only increased his distress. It would have been quite 
impossible to have found our way back without the 


20 


The Improvisatore . 


string, every step would only have led us deeper down 
where no one could save us. 

After vainly searching, he threw himself upon the 
ground, cast his arm around my neck, and sighed, 
“ Thou poor child !” I then. wept bitterly, for it seemed 
to me that I never more should reach my home. He 
clasped me so closely to him as he lay on the ground 
that my hand slid under him. I involuntarily grasped 
the sand, and found the string between my fingers. 

“ Here it is !” I exclaimed. 

He seized my hand, and became, as it were, frantic 
for joy, for our life actually hung upon this single thread. 
We were saved. 

Oh, how warmly beamed the sun, how blue was the 
heaven, how deliciously green the trees and bushes, as 
we came forth into the free air ! Poor Federigo kissed 
me yet again, drew his handsome silver watch out of 
his pocket, and said, “ This thou shalt have !” 

I was so heartily glad about this, that I quite forgot 
all that had happened ; but my mother could not forget 
it, when she had heard it, and would not again consent 
that Federigo should take me out with him. Fra Mar- 
tino said also that it was only on my account that we 
were saved, that it was to me to whom the Madonna 
had given the thread — to me, and not to the heretic 
Federigo ; that I was a good, pious child, and must 
never forget her kindness and mercy. This, and the 
jesting assertion of some of our acquaintance, that I was 
born to be of the priesthood, because, with the exception 
of my mother, I could not endure women, instilled into 
her the determination that I should become a servant of 
the Church. I do not myself know why, but I had an 
antipathy to all women, and, as I expressed this unhesi- 
tatingly, I was bantered by every girl and woman who 
came to my mother’s. They all would kiss me ; in par- 


The Improvisatore. 


21 


ticular was there a peasant girl, Mariuccia, who by this 
jest always brought tears to my eyes. She was very 
lively and waggish, and maintained herself by serving 
as a model, and always appeared, therefore, in hand- 
some, gay dresses, with a large white cloth upon her 
head. She often sat for Federigo, and visited my 
mother also, and then always told me that she was my 
bride, and that I was her little bridegroom, who must 
and should give her a kiss ; I never would do so, and 
then she took it by force. 

Once when she said that I cried childishly, and 
behaved myself exactly like a child that still sucked, 
and that I should be suckled like any other baby, I flew 
out, down the steps, but she pursued and caught me, 
held me between her knees, and pressed my head, 
which I turned away with disgust, ever closer and 
closer to her breast. I tore the silver arrow out of her 
hair, which fell down in rich abundance over me and 
over her naked shoulders. My mother stood on the 
hearth, laughed, and encouraged Mariuccia, whilst 
Federigo, unobservedly, stood at the door, and painted 
the whole group. 

“ I will have no bride, no wife !” I exclaimed to my 
mother ; “ I will be a priest, or a Capuchin, like Fra 
Martino !” 

The extraordinary meditations into which I was 
wrapt for whole evenings also were regarded by my 
mother as tokens of my spiritual calling. I sat and 
thought then what castles and churches I would build, 
if I should become great and rich ; how I then would 
drive like the cardinals in red carriages, with many 
gold-liveried servants behind ; or else I framed a new 
martyr- story out of the many which Fra Martino had 
related to me. I was, of course, the hero of these, and 
through the help of the Madonna, never felt the pangs 


22 


The Improvisator e. 


which were inflicted upon me. But, especially, had I a 
great desire to journey to Federigo’s home, to convert 
the people there, that they also might know something 
of grace. 

Whether it was through the management of my 
mother or Fra Martino I know not, but it is enough 
that my mother, early one morning, arrayed me in a 
little kirtle, and drew over it an embroidered shirt, 
which only reached to the knees, and then led me to 
the glass that I might see myself. I was now a choris- 
ter in the Capuchin church, must carry the great cen- 
ser of incense, and sing with the others before the altar. 
Fra Martino instructed me in the whole duty. Oh, how 
happy all this made me f . I was soon quite at home in 
that little but comfortable church, knew every angel’s 
head in the altar-piece, every ornamental scroll upon 
the pillars, could see even with my eyes shut the beau- 
tiful St. Michael fighting with the dragon,* just as the 
painter had represented him, and thought many won- 
derful things about the death’s heads carved in the 
pavement, with the green ivy wreaths around the brow. 

On the festival of All Saints, I was down in the 
Chapel of the Dead, where Fra Martino had led me 
when I was with him for the first time in the convent. 
All the monks sang masses for the dead, and I, with 
two other boys of my own age, swung the incense- 
breathing censer before the great altar of skulls. They 
had placed lights in the chandeliers made of bones, new 
garlands were placed around the brows of the skeleton- 
monks, and fresh bouquets in their hands. Many people* 
as usual, thronged in ; they all knelt, and the singers 


* The celebrated picture of St. Michael, the arch-angel, who, 
with the beauty of youth, and with great wings, sets his foot upon 
and pierces the head of the Devil . — Author s Note. 


The Improvisator e. 


23 


intoned the solemn Miserere. I gazed for a long time 
on the pale, yellow skulls, and the fumes of the incense 
which wavered in strange shapes between them and 
me, and everything began to spin round before my 
eyes ; it was as if I saw everything through a large 
rainbow ; as if a thousand prayer-bells rung in my 
ear ; it seemed as if I was borne along a stream ; it was 
unspeakably delicious — more I know not ; conscious- 
ness left me — I was in a swoon. 

The atmosphere, made oppressive by crowds of 
people, and my excited imagination, occasioned this 
fainting-fit. When I came to myself again, I was lying 
in Fra Martino’s lap, under the orange-tree in the con- 
vent garden. 

The confused story which I told of what I seemed to 
have seen, he and all the brethren explained as a revela- 
tion : the holy spirits had floated over me, but I had not 
been able to bear the sight of their glory and their 
majesty. This occasioned me before long to have many 
extraordinary dreams, and which, put together, I related 
to my mother, and she again communicated to her 
friends, so that I became daily more and more to be 
regarded as a child of God. 

In the meantime, the happy Christmas approached. 
Pifferari shepherds from the mountains, came in their 
short cloaks, with ribands around their pointed hats', 
and announced with the bagpipe, before every house 
where there stood an image of the Virgin, that the time 
was at hand in which the Saviour was born. I was 
awoke every morning by these monotonous, melancholy 
tones, and my first occupation then was to read over 
my lesson, for I was one of the children selected, “ boys 
and girls,” who, between Christmas and New-year, 
were to preach in the church ara coeli } before the image 
of Jesus. 


24 


The Improvisatore. 


It was not I alone, my mother, and Mariuccia, who 
rejoiced that I, the boy of nine, should make a speech, 
but also the painter Federigo, before whom I, without 
their knowledge, had had a rehearsal, standing upon a 
table ; it would be upon such a one, only that a carpet 
would be laid over it, that we children should be placed 
in the church, where we, before the assembled multi- 
tudes, must repeat the speech, which we had learned by 
rote, about the bleeding heart of the Madonna, and the 
beauty of the child Jesus. 

I knew nothing of fear, it was only with joy that my 
heart beat so violently as I stepped forward, and saw 
all eyes directed to me. That I, of all the children, gave 
most delight, seemed decided ; but now there was lifted 
up a little girl, who was of so exquisitely delicate a 
form, and who had, at the same time, so wonderfully 
bright a countenance, and such a melodious voice, that 
all exclaimed aloud that she was a little angelic child. 
Even my mother, who would gladly have awarded to 
me the palm, declared aloud that she was just like one 
of the angels in the great altar-piece. The wonderfully 
dark eyes, the raven-black hair, the childlike, and yet 
so wise expression of countenance, the exquisitely small 
hands — nay, it seemed to me that my mother said too 
much of all these, although she added that I also was 
an angel of God. 

There is a song about the nightingale, which, when it 
was quite young, sat in the nest and picked the green 
leaves of the rose, without being aware of the buds which 
were just beginning to form ; months afterwards, the 
rose unfolded itself, the nightingale sang only of it, flew 
among the thorns, and wounded itself. The song often 
occurred to me when I became older, but in the church, 
ara cazli , I knew it not, neither my ears nor my heart 
knew it ! 


The Improvisatore. 


25 


At home, I had to repeat before my mother, Mariuc- 
cia, and many friends, the speech which I had made, 
and this flattered my vanity not a little ; but they lost, 
in the meantime, their interest in hearing it earlier than 
I mine in repeating it. In order now to keep my public 
in good humor, I undertook, out of my own head, to 
make a new speech. But this was rather a description 
of the festival in the church than a regular Christmas 
speech. Federigo was the first who heard it ; and, 
although he laughed, it flattered me still, when he said 
that my speech was in every way as good as that which 
Fra Martino had taught me, and that a poet lay hidden 
in me. This last remark gave me much to think about, 
because I could not understand it ; yet, thought I to 
myself, it must be a good angel, perhaps the same 
which shows to me the charming dreams, and so many 
beautiful things when I sleep. For the first time during 
the summer, chance gave me a clear notion of a poet, 
and awoke new ideas in my own soul-world. 

It but very rarely happened that my mother left the 
quarter of the city in which we lived ; therefore it 
seemed to me like a festival when she said to me, one 
afternoon, that we should go and pay a visit to a friend 
of hers in Trastevere.* I was dressed in my holiday 
suit, and the gay piece of silk which I usually wore in- 
stead of a waistcoat was fastened with pins over the 
breast, and under my little jacket ; my neckerchief was 
tied in a great bow, and an embroidered cap was on my 
head. I was particularly elegant. 

When, after the visit we returned home, it was some- 
what late, but the moon shone gloriously, the air was 
fresh and blue, and the cypresses and pines stood with 


* That part of Rome which lies on the higher banks of the 
Tiber. — Author's Note . 


26 


The Improvisatore. 


wonderfully sharp outlines upon the neighboring 
heights. It was one of those evenings which occur but 
once in a person’s life, which, without signalizing itself 
by any great life-adventure, yet stamps itself in its 
whole coloring upon the Psyche-wings. Since that 
moment, whenever my mind goes back to the Tiber, I 
see it ever before me as upon this evening ; the thick 
yellow water lit up by the moonbeams, the black stone 
pillars of the old ruinous bridge, which, with strong 
shadow, lifted itself out of the stream where the great 
mill-wheel rushed round, nay, even the merry girls who 
skipped past with the tambourine and danced the 
saltarello.* 

In the streets around Santa Maria della Rotunda, all 
was yet life and motion ; butchers and fruit- women sat 
before their tables, on which lay their wares among 
garlands of laurel, and with lights burning in the open 
air. The fire flickered under the chestnut-pans, and the 
conversation was carried on with so much screaming 
and noise, that a stranger who did not understand a 
word might have imagined it to be some contention of 
life and death. An old friend whom my mother met in 
the fish-market, kept us talking so long, that people 


* A popular Roman dance to a most monotonous tune. It is 
danced by one or two persons, yet without these coming in contact 
with each other ; most frequently by two men, or two women, who, 
with a quick, hopping step, and with increasing rapidity, move 
themselves in a half-circle. The arms are as violently agitated as 
the legs, and change their position incessantly, with all that natural 
grace peculiar to the Roman people. Women are accustomed in 
this dance to lift up their petticoats a little, or else to beat time 
themselves upon the tambourine ; this, otherwise, is done by a 
third person on the monotonous drum — the changes in the time 
alone consisting in the greater or less rapidity with which the 
strokes follow one another . — Author s Note. 


The Improvisatore. 


2 7 


were beginning to put out their lights before we set off 
again, and as my mother accompanied her friend to her 
door it had now become as silent as death in the street, 
even in the Corso ; but when we came into the square 
di Trevi, where there is the beautiful cascade, it seemed 
on the contrary quite cheerful again. 

The moonlight fell exactly upon the old palace, 
where the water streams out between the masses of 
foundation-rock which seem loosely thrown together. 
Neptune’s heavy stone-mantle floated in the wind, as 
he looked out above the great waterfall, on each side of 
which blooming Tritons guided sea-horses. Beneath 
these the great basin spread itself out, and upon the 
turf around it rested a crowd of peasants, stretching 
themselves in the moonlight. Large, quartered melons, 
from which streamed the red juice, lay around them. 
A little square-built fellow, whose whole dress con- 
sisted of a skirt and short leather breeches, which hung 
loose and unbuttoned at the knees, sat with a guitar, 
and twanged the strings merrily. Now he sang a song, 
now he played, and all the peasauts clapped their 
hands. My mother remained standing ; and I now 
listened to a song which seized upon me quite in an 
extraordinary way, for it was not a song like any other 
which I had heard. No ! he sang to us of what we 
saw and heard, we were ourselves in the song, and that 
in verse, and with melody. He sang, “ How gloriously 
one can sleep with a stone under the head, and the blue 
heaven for a coverlet, whilst the two Pifferari blow 
their bagpipes and with that he pointed to the 
Tritons who were blowing their horns, “ how the whole 
company of peasants who have shed the blood of the 
melon will drink a health to their sweethearts, who 
now are asleep, but see in dreams the dome of St. 
Peter’s, and their beloved, who go wandering about in 


28 


The Ini p rovisa to re. 


the Papal city Yes, we will drink, and that to the 
health of all the girls whose arrow has not yet ex- 
panded.* Yes,” added he, giving my mother a push in 
the side, “ and to mothers who have for their sweet- 
hearts lads on whose chins the black down has not yet 
grown !” 

“ Bravo !” said my mother, and all the peasants 
clapped their hands and shouted, “ Bravo, Giacomo ! 
bravo !” 

Upon the steps of the little church we discovered, in 
the meantime, an acquaintance — our Federigo, who 
stood with a pencil and sketched the whole merry 
moonlight piece. As we went home he and my mother 
joked about the brisk Improvisatore, for so I heard 
them call the peasant who sung so charmingly. 

“ Antonio,” said Federigo to me, “ thou, also, shouldst 
improvise ; thou art truly, also, a little poet ! Thou 
must learn to put thy pieces into verse.” 

I now understood what a poet was ; namely, one who 
could sing beautifully that which he saw and felt. 
That must, indeed, be charming, thought I, and easy, if 
I had but a guitar. 

The first subject of my song was neither more nor 
less than the shop of the bacon-dealer over the way. 
Long ago, my fancy had already busied itself with the 
curious collection of his wares, which attracted in par- 
ticular the eyes of all strangers. Amid beautiful 
garlands of laurel hung the white buffalo-cheeses, like 
great ostrich eggs ; candles, wrapped round with gold 
paper, represented an organ ; and sausages, which were 
reared up like columns, sustained a Parmesan cheese, 


* The arrow which the peasant women wear in their hair has a 
ball at the end if they are free ; but, if betrothed or married has an 
expanded head. — Author's Notes. 


The Improvisatore . 


29 


shining like yellow amber. When in an evening the 
whole was lighted up, and the red glass-lamps burned 
before the image of the Madonna in the wall among 
sausages and ham, it seemed to me as if I looked into 
an entirely magical world. The cat upon the shop-table, 
and the young Capuchins, who always stood so long 
cheapening their purchases with the signora, came also 
into the poem, which I pondered upon so long, that I 
could repeat it aloud and perfectly to Federigo, and 
which, having won his applause, quickly spread itself 
over the whole house, nay, even to the wife of the 
bacon-dealer herself, who laughed and clapped her 
hands, and called it a wonderful poem, — a Dinina Comedia 
di Dante ! 

From this time forth everything was sung. I lived 
entirely in fancies and dreams. In the church, when I 
swung the censer, in the streets amid rolling carriages 
and screaming traders, as well as in my little bed 
beneath the image of the Virgin and the holy-water 
vessel. In the winter-time, I could sit for whole hours 
before our house, and look into the great fire in the 
street, where the smith heated his iron, and the peasants 
warmed themselves. I saw in the red fire a world 
glowing as my own imagination. I shouted for joy, 
when in winter the snow of the mountains sent down to 
us such severe cold that icicles hung from the Triton 
in the square ; pity that it was so seldom. Then, also, 
were the peasants glad, for it was to them a sign of a 
fertile year ; thpy took hold of each other’s hands, and 
danced in their great woollen cloaks round about the 
Triton, whilst a rainbow played in the high-springing 
water. 

But I loiter too long over the simple recollections of 
my childhood, which cannot have for a stranger the 
deep meaning, the extraordinary attraction, which they 


30 


The Improvisatore. 


have for me. Whilst I recall, whilst I hold fast every 
single occurrence, it seems as if I again lived in the 
whole. 

“ My childhood’s heart was to my dreams a sea 
Of music, whereon floated picture-boats !” 

I will now hasten on to the circumstance which 
placed the first hedge of thorns between me and the 
paradise of home — which led me among strangers, and 
which contained the germ of my whole future. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE FLOWER-FEAST AT GENZANO.* 

It was in the month of June, and the day of the 
famous flower-feast which was annually celebrated at 
Genzano approached. My mother and Mariuccia had a 
mutual friend there, who, with her husband kept a 
public-house, f They had for many years determined 
to go to this festival, but there was always something or 
other to prevent it ; this time there was nothing. We 
were to set off the day before the flower-feast, because 
it was a long way ; I could not sleep for joy through 
the whole night preceding. ' 

Before the sun had risen, the vitturino drove up to 


* A little city in the mountains of Albano, which lies upon the 
highroad between Rome and the Marshes . — Note by the Author. 

t “ Osteria e cucina the customary sign for the lower order of 
hotels and public-houses in Italy. — Ibid. 


The Improvisatore . 


3i 


the door, and we rolled away. Never before had I been 
among the mountains. Expectation, and joy of the 
approaching festival, set my whole soul in motion. If 
in my maturer years I could have seen nature and life 
around me with the same vivid feeling as then, and 
could have expressed it in words, it would have been 
an immortal poem. The great stillness of the streets, 
the iron-studded city gate, the Campagna stretching out 
for miles, with the lonely monuments, the thick mist 
which covered the feet of the distant mountains, — all 
these seemed to me mysterious preparations for the 
magnificence which I should behold. Even the wooden 
cross erected by the wayside, upon which hung the 
whitened bones of the murderer which told us that here 
an innocent person had perished, and the perpetrator of 
his death had been punished, had for me an uncom- 
mon charm. First of all, I attempted to count the 
innumerably many stone arches which conduct the 
water from the mountains to Rome, but of this I was 
soon weary ; so I then began to torment the others with 
a thousand questions about the great fires which the 
peasants had made around the piled-up grave-stones, 
and would have an exact explanation of the vast flocks 
of sheep, which the wandering drivers kept together in 
one place by stretching a fishing-net, like a fence, 
around the whole herd. 

From Albano, we were to go on foot for the short 
and beautiful remainder of the way through Arriccia. 
Resida and golden cistus grew wild by the roadside, 
the thick, juicy olive-trees cast a delicious shade ; I 
caught a glimpse of the distant sea, and upon the 
mountain slopes by the wayside, where a cross stood, 
•merry girls skipped dancing past us, but yet never for- 
getting piously to kiss the holy cross. The lofty dome 
of the church of Arriccia I imagined to be that of St. 


32 


The Improvisatore . 


Peter, which the angels had hung up in the blue air 
among the dark olive-trees. In the street, the people 
had collected around a bear which danced upon his 
hind-legs, while the peasant who held the rope blew 
upon his bagpipe the self-same air which he had played 
at Christmas, as Pifferaro, before the Madonna. A 
handsome ape in a military uniform, and which he 
called the corporal, made summersets upon the bear’s 
head and neck. I was quite willing to stop there instead 
of going on to Genzano. The flower-festival was really 
not till to-morrow, but my mother was resolute that we 
should go and help her friend, Angeline, to make gar- 
lands and flower-tapestry. 

We soon went the short remainder of the way and 
arrived at Angeline’s house ; it stood in that part of 
the neighborhood of Genzano which looks on Lake 
Nemi ; it was a pretty house, and out of the wall flowed 
a fresh fountain into a stone basin, where the asses 
thronged to drink. 

We entered the hostel ; there was a noise and a stir. 
The dinner was boiling and frizzling on the hearth. A 
crowd of peasants and town-folk sat at the long wooden 
tables drinking their wine and eating their presclutto. 
The most beautiful roses were stuck in a blue jug 
before the image of the Madonna, where the lamp 
would not burn well, because the smoke drew towards 
it. The cat ran over the cheese which lay upon the 
table, and we were near stumbling over the hens, which, 
terrified, hopped along the floor. Angeline was 
delighted to see us, and we were sent up the steep 
stairs near the chimney, where we had a little room to 
ourselves, and a kingly banquet, according to my 
notions. Everything was magnificent ; even the bottle 
of wine was ornamented ; instead of a cork, a full- 
blown rose was stuck into it. Angeline kissed us all 


The Improvisatore. 


33 


three ; I also received a kiss whether I would or not. 
Angeline said I was a pretty hoy, and my mother 
patted me on the cheek with one hand, whilst with the 
other she put my things to rights ; and now she pulled 
my jacket, which was too little for me, down to my 
hands, and then up again to my shoulders and breast, 
just as it ought to have been. 

After dinner, a perfect feast awaited us ; we were to 
go out to gather flowers and leaves for garlands. We 
went through a low door out into the garden ; this was 
only a few ells in circumference, and was, so to say, 
one single bower. The light railing which inclosed it 
was strengthened with the broad, firm leaves of the 
aloe, which grew wild here, and formed a natural 
fence. 

The lake slept calmly in the great, round crater, from 
which at one time fire spouted up to heaven. We went 
down the amphitheatre-like, rocky slope, through the 
great beech and the thick plantain wood, where the 
vines wreathed themselves among the tree-branches. 
On the opposite descent before us lay the city of Nemi, 
and mirrored itself in the blue lake. As we went along, 
we bound garlands ; the dark green olive and fresh vine- 
leaves we entwined with the wild golden cistus. Now 
the deep-lying, blue lake, and the bright heavens above 
us, were hidden by the thick green and the vine-leaves ; 
now they gleamed forth again as if they both were only 
one single, infinite blue. Everything was to me new 
and glorious ; my soul trembled for quiet joy. There are 
even yet moments in which the remembrance of these 
feelings come forth again like the beautiful mosaic frag- 
ment of a buried city. 

The sun burned hotly, and it was not until we were 
by the lake-side, where the plantains shoot forth their 
ancient trunks from the water, and bend down their 


34 


The Improvisatore. 


branches, heavy with en wreathing vines, to the watery 
mirror, that we found it cool enough to continue our 
work. Beautiful water-plants nodded here as if they 
dreamed under the deep shadow, and they, too, made a 
part of our garlands. Presently, however, the sunbeams 
no longer reached the lake, but played only upon the 
roofs of Nemi and Genzano ; and now the gloom 
descended to where we sat. I went a little distance 
from the others, yet only a few paces, for my mother 
was afraid that I should fall into the lake where it was 
deep and the banks were sudden. Not far from the 
small stone ruins of an old temple of Diana, there lay a 
huge fig-tree, which the ivy had already begun to bind 
fast to the earth ; I had climbed upon this, and was 
weaving a garland whilst I sang from a canzonet, — 

“ Ah ! rossi, rossi flori, 

Un mazzo di violi ! 

Un gelsomin d’amore,” 

when I was suddenly interrupted by a strangely whist- 
ing voice, — 

“ Per dar al mio bene !” 

and as suddenly there stood before me a tall, aged woman, 
of an unusually slender frame, and in the costume which 
the peasant women of Frascati are so fond of wearing. 
The long white veil which hung down from her head 
over her shoulders contributed to give the countenance 
and neck a more Mulatto tint that they probably had 
naturally. Wrinkle crossed wrinkle, whereby her face 
resembled a crumpled-up net. The black pupil of the 
eye seemed to fill up the whole eye. She laughed, and 
looked at the same time both seriously and fixedly at 
me, as if she were a mummy which some one had set up 
under the trees. 


The Improvisatore. 


35 


“ Rosemary flowers,” she said, at length, “ become 
more beautiful in thy hands ; thou hast a lucky star in 
thy eyes.” 

I looked at her with astonishment, and pressed the 
garland which I was weaving to my lips. 

“ There is poison in the beautiful laurel-leaves ;* bind 
thy garland, but do not taste of the leaves.” 

“ Ah, the wise Fulvia of Frascati !” exclaimed Ange- 
line, stepping from among the bushes, “ art thou also 
making garlands for to-morrow’s festival ? or,” continued 
she, in a more subdued voice, “ art thou binding another 
kind of nosegay while the sun goes down on the Cam- 
pagna ?” 

“ An intelligent eye,” continued Fulvia, gazing at me 
without intermission ; “ the sun went through the bull 
he had nourished, and there hung gold and honor on 
the bull’s horns.” 

“Yes,” said my mother, who had come up with 
Mariuccia, “ when he gets on the black coat and the 
broad hat we shall then see whether he must swing the 
censer or go through a thorn-hedge.” 

That she intended by this to indicate my being of the 
clerical order, the sibyl seemed to comprehend ; but 
there was quite another meaning in her reply than we 
at that time might imagine. 

“ The broad hat,” said she, “ will not shadow his brow . 
when he stands before the people, when his speeches 
sound like music, sweeter than the song of nuns behind 
the grating, and more powerful than thunder in the 
mountains of Albano. The seat of Fortune is higher 
than Monte Cave, where the clouds repose upon the 
mountains among the flocks of sheep.” 


* Prunus laurocerasus, which grows abundantly among these 
mountains. — Author's note , 


3 6 


The Improvisatore . 


Oh, God !” sighed my mother, shaking her head 
somewhat incredulously, although she listened gladly 
to the brilliant prophecy, “he is a poor child — 
Madonna only knows what will become of him ! The 
chariot of Fortune is loftier than the car of a peasant of 
Albano, and the wheel is always turning ; how can a 
poor child mount it ?” 

“ Hast thou seen how the two great wheels of the 
peasant’s car turn round ? The lowest spoke becomes 
the highest, and then goes down again ; when it is' 
down, the peasant sets his foot upon it, and the wheel 
which goes round lifts him up ; but sometimes there 
lies a stone in the path, and then it will go like a dance 
in the market place.”* 

“ And may not I, too, mount with him into the chariot 
of Fortune ?” asked my mother, half in jest, but uttered 
at the same moment a loud cry, for a large eagle flew 
so near us down into the lake that the water at the 
same moment splashed into our faces from the force 
with which he struck it with his great wings. High up 
in the air his keen glance had discovered a large fish, 
which lay immovable as a reed upon the surface of the 
lake ; with the swiftness of an arrow he seized upon his 
prey, stuck his sharp talons into the back of it, and was 
about to raise himself again, when the fish, which, by 
the agitation of the waters, we could see was of great 
size and almost of equal power to his enemy, sought on 
the contrary to drag him below with him. The talons 
of the bird were so firmly fixed into the back of the fish, 
that he could not release himself from his prey, and there 
now, therefore, began between the two such a contest that 
the quiet lake trembled in wide circles. Now appeared 


* The peasants mount into their tan cars by, standing upon the 
spoke of the ascending wheel. — Ibid. 


The Improvisator e. 


37 


the glittering back of the fish, now the bird struck the 
water with his broad wings, and seemed to yield. The 
combat lasted for some minutes. The two wings lay 
for a moment still, outspread upon the water, as if they 
rested themselves ; then they were rapidly struck 
together, a crack was heard, the one wing sank down, 
whilst the other lashed the water to foam, and then 
vanished. The fish sunk beneath the waves with his 
enemy, where a moment afterwards they both must die. 

We had all gazed on this scene in silence ; when my 
mother turned herself round to the others, the sibyl had 
vanished. This, in connection with the little occur- 
rence, which, as will be seen, many years afterwards 
had an influence on my fate, and which was deeply 
stamped upon my memory, made us all somewhat 
silently hasten home. Darkness seemed to come forth 
from the thickest leaves of the trees, the fire-red even- 
ing clouds reflected themselves in the mirror of the 
lake, the mill-wheel rushed round with a monotonous 
sound ; all seemed to have in it something demoniacal. 
As we went along, Angeline related to us in a whisper 
strange things which had been told to her of the old 
woman, who understood how to mix poisons and love- 
potions ; and then she told us about poor Therese of 
Olevano — how she wasted away day by day from anxi- 
ety and longing after the slender Guiseppe, who had 
gone away beyond the mountains to the north, — how 
the old woman had boiled herbs in a copper vessel, and 
let them simmer over the hot coals for several days, 
until Guiseppe also was seized upon by a longing, and 
was obliged to speed back again, day and night, with- 
out rest or stay, to where the vessel was boiling holy 
herbs and a lock of his and Therese ’s hair. I said an 
Ave Maria softly, and did not feel easy until I was 
again in the house with Angeline. 


38 


The Impj'ovisatore . 


The four wicks in the brass lamp were lighted, one 
of our garlands hung around it, and a supper of mongana 
al pomidoro* was set out for us, together with a bottle 
full of wine. The peasants in the rooms below us 
drank and improvised ; it was a sort of duet between 
two of them, and the whole company joined in the 
chorus, but when I went with the other children to 
sing before the image of the Virgin, which hung beside 
the great chimney where the fire burned, they all lis- 
tened and praised my beautiful voice, which made me 
forget the dark wood and the old Fulvia who had told 
my fortune. I would gladly now have begun to impro- 
vise in emulation of the peasants, but my mother damp- 
ened my vanity and my wish by the inquiry whether I 
thought' it becoming for me, who swung the censer in 
the church, and, perhaps, some day should have to 
explain the word of God to the people, to set myself up 
there like a fool ; that it was not now carnival time, and 
that she would not allow it. But when in the evening 
we were in our sleeping-room, and I had climbed up into 
the broad bed, she pressed me tenderly to her heart, 
called me her comfort and her joy, and let me lay my 
head upon her arm, where I dreamed till the sun shone 
in at my window, and awoke me to the beautiful feast 
of flowers. 

How shall I describe the first glance into the street — 
that bright picture as I then saw it ? The entire long, 
gently ascending street was covered over with flowers ; 
the ground color was blue ; it looked as if they had 
robbed all the gardens, all the fields, to collect flowers 
enough of the same color to cover the street ; over these 
lay in long stripes, green, composed of leaves, alter- 
nately with rose-color ; at some distance from this was a 


Veal and tomatoes. 


The Improvisatore. 


39 


similar stripe, and between this a layer of dark red 
flowers, so as to form, as it were, a broad border to the 
whole carpet. The middle of this represented stars 
and suns, which were formed by a close mass of yellow, 
round, and star-like flowers ; more labor still had been 
spent upon the formation of names — here flower was 
laid upon flower, leaf upon leaf. The whole was a 
living flower-carpet, a mosaic floor, richer in pomp of 
coloring than anything which Pompeii can show. Not 
a breath of air stirred — the flowers lay immovable, as if 
they were heavy, firmly-set precious stones. From all 
windows were hung upon the walls large carpets, 
worked in leaves and flowers, representing holy pic- 
tures. Here Joseph led the ass on which sat the 
Madonna and the child ; roses formed the faces, the 
feet, and the arms ; gilly flowers and anemones their 
fluttering garments ; and crowns were made of white 
water-lilies, brought from Lake Nemi. Saint Michael 
fought with the dragon ; the holy Rosalia showered 
down roses upon the dark blue globe ; wherever my 
eye fell flowers related to me biblical legends, and the 
people all round about were as joyful as myself. Rich 
foreigners, from beyond the mountains, clad in festal 
garments, stood in the balconies, and by the side of the 
houses moved along a vast crowd of people, all in full 
holiday costume, each according to the fashion of his 
country. Beside the stone basin which surrounds the 
great fountain, where the street spreads itself out, my 
mother had taken her place, and I stood just before the 
satyr’s head which looks out from the water. 

The sun burnt hotly, all the bells rung, and the pro- 
cession moved along the beautiful flower-carpet ; the 
most charming music and singing announced its 
approach. Choristers swung the censer before the host, 
the most beautiful girls of the country followed, with 


40 


The Improvisatore. 


garlands of flowers in their hands, and poor children, 
with wings to their naked shoulders, sang hymns, as of 
angels, whilst awaiting the arrival of the procession at 
the high altar. Young fellows wore fluttering ribands 
around their pointed hats, upon, which a picture of the 
Madonna was fastened ; silver and gold rings hung to a 
chain around their necks, and handsome, bright-colored 
scarfs looked splendidly upon their black velvet jackets. 
The girls of Albano and Frascati, came, with their thin 
veils elegantly thrown over their black, plaited hair, in 
which was stuck the silver arrow ; those from Villetri, 
on the contrary, wore garlands around their hair, and 
the smart neckerchief, fastened so low down in the 
dress as to leave visible the beautiful shoulder and the 
round bosom. From Abruzzi, from the Marshes, from 
every other neighboring district, came all in their 
peculiar national costume, and produced altogether the 
most brilliant effect. Cardinals, in their mantles woven 
with silver, advanced under canopies adorned with 
flowers, monks of various orders followed, all bearing 
burning tapers. When the procession came out of the 
church an immense crowd followed. We were carried 
along with it, — my mother held me firmly by the 
shoulder, that I might not be separated from her. Thus 
I went on, shut in by the crowd ; I could see nothing 
but the blue sky above my head. All at once there was 
sent forth a piercing cry — it rang forth on all sides ; a 
pair of unmanageable horses rushed through — more I 
did not perceive : I was thrown to the earth, it was all 
black before my eyes, and it seemed to me as if a water- 
fall dashed over me. 

Oh ! Mother of God, what aTgrief ! a thrill of horror 
passes through me whenever I think of it. When I 
again returned to consciousness, I lay with my head in- 
Mariuccia’s lap, she sobbed and cried ; beside us lay 


The Imp rovisa to re. 


4i 


my mother stretched out, and there stood around a little 
circle of strange people. The wild horses had gone 
over us, the wheel had gone over my mother’s breast, 
blood gushed out of her mouth, — she was dead. 

I looked at the heavy, closed eyes, and folded the 
lifeless hands which lately had so lovingly protected 
me. The monks carried her into the convent, and as I 
was altogether without injury, excepting that the skin 
was a little broken, Mariuccia took me back again to the 
hostel where I had been yesterday so joyful, had bound 
garlands, and slept in my mother’s arms. I was most 
deeply distressed, although I did not apprehend how 
entirely forlorn I was. They gave me playthings, fruit, 
and cakes, and promised me that on the morrow I 
should see my mother again, who, they said, was to-day 
with the Madonna, with whom there was a perpetual 
flower-feast and rejoicing. But other things which 
Mariuccia said also did not escape my attention. I 
heard her whisper about the hateful eagle yesterday, 
about Fulvia, and about a dream which my mother had 
had ; now she was dead, every one had foreseen mis- 
fortune. 

The runaway horses had in the meantime, gone right 
through the city, and, striking against a tree, had been 
stopped, and a gentleman of condition, upwards of forty 
years of age, half dead with terror, had then been 
helped from the carriage. He was, it was said, of the 
Borghesa family, and lived in a villa between Albano 
and Frascati, and was known for his singular passion 
for collecting all kinds of plants and flowers ; nay, in 
the dark sciences it was believed that he was as know- 
ing as even the wise Fulvia. A servant in rich livery 
brought a purse containing twenty scudi from him for 
the motherless child. 

The next evening, before the ringing of the Ave 


42 


The Improvisatore. 


Maria, I was conducted into the convent, to see my 
mother for the last time ; she lay in the narrow wooden 
coffin, in her holiday apparel, as yesterday at the flower- 
feast. I kissed her folded hands, and the women wept 
with me. 

There stood already at the door the corpse-bearers 
and the attendants, wrapped in their white cloaks, with 
the hoods drawn over their faces. They lifted the bier 
on their shoulders, the Capuchins lighted their tapers, 
and began the song for the dead. Mariuccia went with 
me close behind the corpse, the red evening heaven 
shone upon my mother’s face, she looked as if she 
lived. The other children of the city ran gaily around 
me, and collected in little paper bags the drops of wax 
which fell from the monks’ tapers. 

We went through the streets where yesterday had 
passed the festival-procession, — it lay scattered over 
with leaves and. flowers ; but the pictures, the beautiful 
figures, were all vanished like the happiness of my 
childhood, the bliss of my past days. I saw when we 
reached the churchyard how the great stone was lifted 
aside which covered the vault into which the corpses 
were lowered. I saw the coffin descend, and heard the 
dull sound as it was set down upon the others. Then 
all withdrew except Mariuccia, who let me kneel upon 
the gravestone, and repeat an “ Ora pro nobis!” 

In the moonlight night we journeyed back from 
Genzano ; Federigo and two strangers were with us. 
Black clouds hung upon the mountains of Albano. I 
saw the light mists which flew in the moonlight across 
the Campagna. The others spoke but very little, and I 
soon slept, and dreamed of the Madonna, of the flowers, 
and my mother, who lived, smiled, and talked to me. 



CHAPTER IV. 

UNCLE PEPPO THE NIGHT IN THE COLOSSEUM THE 

ADVICE. 

What should really now be done with me ? that was 
the question which was asked when we came back to 
Rome, and into my mother’s house. Fra Martino 
advised that I should go to the Campagna to Mariuccia’s 
parents, who kept flocks, and were honest people, to 
whom the twenty scudi would be wealth, and who would 
not hesitate to take me home to them, and to treat me 
as their own child ; but, then, I was in part a member of 
the church, and, if I went out to the Campagna, I should 
no longer swing the censer in the church of the Capu- 
chins. Federigo also thought it better that I should 
remain in Rome with some decent people ; he should 
not like, he said, that I should be only a rough, simple 
peasant. 

Whilst Fra Martino counselled with himself in the 
convent, my uncle Peppo came stumping upon his 
wooden clogs. He had heard of my mother’s death, 
and that twenty scudi had fallen to me, and for this 
reason he also now came to give his opinion. He 
declared, that as he was the only relative I had in the 
world, he should take me to himself ; that I was to fol- 
low him, and that everything which the house contained 
was his, as well as the twenty scudi. Mariuccia main- 



44 


The Improvisatore. 


tained with great zeal that she and Fra Martino had 
already arranged everything for the best, and gave him 
to understand that he, a cripple and a beggar, had 
enough to do with himself, and could not have any 
view in the matter. 

Federigo left the room, and the two who remained 
reproached each other mutually with the selfish ground 
of their regard for me. Uncle Peppo spit forth all his 
venom, and Mariuccia stood like a Fury before him. 
She would, she said, have nothing to do with him, nor 
with the boy ; she would have nothing to do with any- 
thing. She said he might take me and get me a pair 
of wooden crutches made, and so like a cripple I could 
help fill his bag ! He might take me with him, but the 
money she would keep till Fra Martino came back ; not 
a single stiver of it should his false eyes behold ! Peppo 
threatened to knock a hole in her head, as big as the 
Piazzo del Popolo, with his wooden hand-clogs. I stood 
weeping near to them. Mariuccia pushed me from her, 
and Peppo drew me to him. I must follow him, he said, 
must attach myself to him ; but if he bore the burden, 
he also would have the reward. The Roman Senate 
knew well enough how to do right to an honest man ; 
and then he drew me against my will out of the house- 
door, where a ragged lad held his ass ; for on great occa- 
sions, and when haste was required, he cast aside his 
board, and held himself fast on the ass with his withered 
legs ; he and it were, so to say, one body. Me he set 
before him upon the beast ; the lad gave it a blow, and 
so we trotted off, whilst he caressed me in his own way. 

“ Dost thou see, my child ?” he said, “ is it not an ex- 
cellent ass ? and fly can he, fly like a racer through the 
Corso ! Thou wilt be well off with me, like an angel of 
heaven, my fine fellow !” And then followed a thousand 
curses and maledictions against Mariuccia. 


The Improvisator e< 


45 


“ Where hast thou stolen that pretty child ?” inquired 
his acquaintance as we rode onward, and so my history 
was told and told again almost at every corner. The 
woman who sold citron-peel water reached to us a 
whole glass for our long story, and gave me a pine- 
apple to take with me, the inside of which was all gone. 
Before we got under his roof the sun had gone down. 
I said not one word, but pressed my hands before my 
face, and cried. In the little room which adjoined 
the larger room, he showed me in a corner a bed of 
maize-leaves, or rather the dried husks of the maize ; 
here I was to sleep. Hungry I could not be, he said, 
nor thirsty, either, for we had drunk the excellent glass 
of citron-water. He patted me on the cheek with that 
same hateful smile of which I always felt such horror. 
He then asked me how many silver pieces there were 
in the purse, whether Mariuccia had paid the vetturino 
out of it, and what the strange servant had said when 
he brought the money. I would give him no explan- 
ation, and asked with tears whether I was always 
to remain here, and whether I could not go home 
to-morrow. 

“ Yes, surely ! yes, surely !” said he ; “sleep now, 
but do not forget thy Ava Maria ; when people sleep the 
devil wakes ; make the sign of the cross over thee, it is 
an iron wall which a raging lion cannot break through ! 
Pray piously ; and pray that the Madonna will punish 
with poison and corruption the false Mariuccia, who 
would overreach thy innocence, and cheat thee and me 
of all thy property. Now go to sleep, the little hole 
above can stand open, the fresh air is half a supper. 
Don’t be afraid of the bats — they fly past, the poor 
things ! Sleep well, my Jesus-child !” And with this 
he bolted the door. 

For a long time he busied himself in the other room ; 


4 6 


The Improvisatore. 


then I heard other voices, and the light of a lamp came 
in through a chink in the wall. I raised myself up, but 
quite softly, for the dry maize-leaves rustled loudly, 
and I was afraid that he would hear them and come in 
again. I now saw through the chink that two wicks 
were lighted in the lamp, bread and radishes were set 
on the table, and a flask of wine went round the com- 
pany. All were beggars, all cripples ; I knew them all 
well, although there was quite another expression on 
their countenances than I was accustomed to see there. 
The fever-sick, half dead Lorenzo, sat there merry and 
noisy, and talked without intermission ; and by day I 
had always seen him lying stretched out on the grass 
on Monte Pincio,* where he supported his bound-up 
head against a tree-stem, and moved his lips as if half- 
dying, whilst his wife pointed out the fever-sick, suffer- 
ing man, to the passers-by. Francia, with his finger- 
less hands, drummed with the stumps upon the shoul- 
ders of the blind Cathrina, and sang half aloud, “ Cav- 
alier Tor chino.” Two or three others sat near the door, 
but so much in the shadow, that I did not know them. 
My heart beat violently with fear. I heard that they 
talked about me. 

“ Can the boy do anything ?” asked one. “ Has he 
any sort of a hurt ?” 

“ No, the Madonna has not been so kind to him,” said 
Peppo ; “ he is slender ana well formed, like a noble- 
man’s child.” 

“That is a great misfortune,” said they all. The 
blind Cathrina added that I could have some little 


* This is the public promenade which extends from the Spanish 
Steps to the French Academy, and down to Porta del Popolo, 
looking over the greatest part of Rome and the sea, with the Villa 
Borghese. — Author's Note. 


The Improvisatore . 


47 


hurt, which would help me to get my earthly bread 
until the Madonna gave me the heavenly. 

“ Ay, "said Peppo, “ if my niece had been wise the lad 
might have made his fortune ! He has a voice, oh, like 
the dear angels of heaven ! he was meant for the Pope’s 
chapel ! he ought to have been a singer !” 

They talked of my age, and of what could yet be 
done, and how my fortune must be made. I did not 
understand what they would do with me, but thus 
much I saw clearly, that it was something bad they 
meant, and I trembled for fear. But how should I get 
away? This alone filled my whole soul. Whither 
should I go ? No, of that I thought not. I crept along 
the floor to the open hole, by the help of a block of 
wood I climbed up to it. I saw not a single person in 
the street. The doors were all closed. I must take a 
great leap if I would reach the ground ; I had not 
courage for the leap until I seemed to hear some one 
at my door ; they were coming in to me. A shudder 
went through me ; I let myself slide from the wall. I 
fell heavily, but only upon earth and green turf. 

I started up and ran, without knowing whither, through 
the narrow, crooked streets. A man who sang aloud, 
and struck with his stick upon the stone pavement, was 
the only person I met. At length I stood in a great 
square ; the moon shone brightly. I knew the place, it 
was the Forum Romanum, the cow-market, as we 
called it. 

The moon illumined the back of the Capitol, which, 
like a perpendicular wall of rock, seemed to divide the 
closely built part of Rome from that which was more 
open. Upon the high steps of the arch of Septimus 
Severus lay several beggars asleep, wrapped in their 
large cloaks. The tall columns which yet remain of 
the old temple cast long shadows. I had never been 


48 


The Improvisa tore. 


there before, after sunset ; there was something spectral 
to me in the whole, and as I went along I stumbled over 
the marble capitals which lay in the long grass. I rose 
up and gazed upon the ruins of the city of the 
Caesars. The thick ivy made the walls still darker ; the 
black cypresses raised themselves so demon-like and 
huge in the blue air, that I grew more and more fearful. 
In the grass, amid the fallen columns and the marble 
rubbish, lay some cows, and a mule still grazed there ; 
it was a sort of consolation to me, that here were living 
creatures which would do me no harm. 

The clear moonlight made it almost as bright as day ; 
every object showed itself distinctly. I heard some one 
coming — was it some one in search of me ! In my 
terror I flew into the gigantic Colosseum, which lay 
before me like a vast mass of rock. I stood in the 
double-vaulted passage which surrounds one half of the 
building, and is large and perfect, as if only completed 
yesterday. Here it was quite dark, and ice-cold. I 
advanced a few steps from between the pillars, but 
softly, very softly, for the sound of my own footsteps 
made me more fearful. I saw a fire upon the ground, 
and could distinguish before it the forms of three 
human beings ; were they peasants who had here 
sought out a resting-place for the night, that they 
might not ride over the desolate Campagna during the 
hours of darkness ? or were they, perhaps, soldiers who 
kept watch in the Colosseum ? or they might be rob- 
bers. I fancied that I heard the rattling of their 
weapons, and I therefore withdrew softly back again to 
where the tall pillars stand without any other roof than 
that which is formed by bushes and climbing plants. 
Strange shadows fell in the moonlight upon the lofty 
wall ; square masses of stone shot out from their 
regular places, and, overgrown with evergreen, looked 


The Improvisatore. 


49 


as if they were about to fall, and were only sustained 
by the thick climbers. 

Above in the middle gallery, people were walking, 
travelers, certainly, who were visiting these remarkable 
ruins late in the beautiful moonlight ; a lady, dressed in 
white, was in the company. Now I saw distinctly this 
singular picture, as it came into view, vanished, and 
again showed itself between the pillars, lighted by the 
moonbeams and the red torch. The air was of an 
infinitely dark blue, and tree and bush seemed as if 
made of the blackest velvet ; every leaf breathed night. 
My eye followed the strangers. After they were all gone 
out of sight, I still saw the red glare of the torch ; but 
this also vanished, and all around me was as still as death. 

Behind one of the many wooden altars which stand 
not far apart within the ruins, and indicate the resting- 
points of the Saviour’s progress to the cross, I seated 
myself upon a fallen capital, which lay in the grass. 
The stone was as cold as ice, my head burned, there 
was fever in my blood ; I could not sleep, and there 
occurred to my mind all that people had related to me 
of this old building ; of the captive Jews who had been 
made to raise these huge blocks of stone for the mighty 
Roman Caesar ; of the wild beasts which, within this 
space, had fought with each other, nay, even with men 
also, while the people sat upon stone benches, which 
ascended, step-like, from the ground to the loftiest col- 
onnade.* 


* The Colosseum was built under Vespasian. Twelve thousand 
captive Jews labored at its erection. The ruins are now used for 
Christian worship. 

“ Whilst stands the Colosseum, Rome shall stand ; 

When falls the Colosseum, Rome shall fall ; 

And when Rome falls — the world.” — B yron. 

Author's Note . 


50 


The Improvisatore. 


There was a rustling in the bushes above me ; I 
looked up, and fancied that I saw something moving. Oh 
yes, my imagination showed to me pale, dark shapes 
which hewed and builded around me ; I heard distinctly 
every stroke which fell, saw the meagre, black-bearded 
Jews tear away grass and shrubs to pile stone upon 
stone, till the whole monstrous building stood there 
newly erected ; and now all was one throng of human 
beings, head above head, and the whole seemed one 
infinitely vast, living giant-body. 

I saw the Vestals in their long white garments ; the 
magnificent court of the Caesar ; the naked, bleeding 
gladiators ; then I heard how there was a roaring, and 
a howling round about in the lowest colonnades ; from 
various sides sprung in whole herds of tigers and 
hyaenas ; they sped close past the spot where I lay ; I 
felt their burning breath ; saw their red, fiery glances, 
and held myself fast upon the stone upon which I was 
seated, whilst I prayed the Madonna to save me ; but 
wilder still grew the tumult around me ; yet I could 
see in the midst of all the holy cross as it still stands, 
and which, whenever I had passed it, I had piously 
kissed. I exerted all my strength, and perceived dis- 
tinctly that I had thrown my arms around it ; but every- 
thing that surrounded me tumbled violently together — 
walls, men, beasts. Consciousness had left me, I per- 
ceived nothing more. 

When I again opened my eyes, my fever was over, 
but I was enfeebled, and as if oppressed with weari- 
ness. 

I lay actually upon the steps of the great wooden 
cross. I noticed now all that surrounded me ; there 
was nothing at all terrific in it ; a deep solemnity lay 
upon the whole, a nightingale sang among the bushes 
on the wall ; I thought upon the dear child Jesus, whose 


The Improvisatore. 


5i 


mother, now that I had none, was mine also, threw my 
arms around the cross, rested my head against it, and 
soon sank into a calm, refreshing sleep. 

This must have lasted several hours. I was awoke 
by the singing of a psalm. The sun shone upon the 
highest part of the wall ; the Capuchins went with 
burning tapers from altar to altar, and sang their 
“ Kyrie eleison,” in the beautiful morning. They stood 
now around the cross where I lay ; — I saw Fra Martino 
bending over me. My forlorn appearance, my paleness, 
and my being here at this hour, made him uneasy. 
Whether I explained all to him I know not ; but my 
terror of Uncle Peppo, and my forlorn condition, were 
clear enough to him ; I held fast by his brown cloak, 
prayed him not to leave me, and it seemed as if the 
brethren sympathized in my misfortune. They all, 
indeed, knew me ; I had been in the cells of all of them, 
and had sung with them before the holy altar. 

How glad then was I when Fra Martino led me back 
with him to the convent, and how entirely I forgot all 
my need as I sat in his little cell, where the old wood- 
cuts were pasted upon the wall, and the orange-tree 
stretched its green, fragrant twigs in at the window. 
Fra Martino also had promised me that I should not 
again be sent back to Peppo. “ A beggar,” I heard 
him say to the others, — “ a begging cripple that lay in 
the streets craving our alms ; that the boy should 
never be !” 

At mid-day he brought me radishes, bread, and wine, 
and said to me, with such solemnity that my heart 
trembled within me, “ Poor lad ! if thy mother had 
lived, then had we not been separated ; the Church 
would have possessed thee, and thou wouldest have 
grown up in its peace, and protection. Now must thou 
go forth upon the restless sea, floating upon an insecure 


52 


The Improvisatore . 


plank ; but think upon thy bleeding Saviour, and on 
the heavenly Virgin ! Hold fast by them ! Thou hast 
in the whole wide world only them !” 

“ Where then shall I go ?” I asked. And now he told 
me that I was to go to the Campagna, to the parents of 
Mariuccia, and besought me to honor them as father 
and mother, to be obedient to them in all things, and 
never to forget my prayers and the learning which he 
had given me. 

In the evening Mariuccia came with her father to the 
convent-gate to fetch me ; Fra Martino led me out to 
them. Witl^regard to dress, Peppo looked almost more 
respectable than this herdsman, to whom I was now 
consigned. The torn leather boots, the naked knees, 
the pointed hat in which was stuck a sprig of flowering 
heather, were the things which first caught my eye. 
He knelt down, kissed Fra Martino’s hand, and said of 
me that I was a pretty lad, and that he and his wife 
would divide every morsel with me. Mariuccia gave 
him the purse which contained all my wealth, and after- 
wards all four went into the church ; they prayed 
silently to themselves. I kneeled too, but I could not 
pray ; my eyes sought out all the beloved pictures : 
Jesus sailing in the ship, high above the church door ; 
the angels in the great altar-piece, and the holy St. 
Michael ; even to the death’s heads, with ivy garlands 
around them, must I say farewell. Fra Martino laid 
his hand upon my head, and gave me at parting a little 
book, in which were wood cuts, “ Modo di servire la sancta 
messaP and so we parted. 

As we went across the Piazza Barberini, I could not 
help looking up to my mother’s house ; all the windows 
stood open, the rooms had new inmates. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE CAMPAGNA. 

The immense desert which lies around old Rome was 
now my home. The stranger from beyond the moun- 
tains, who, full of love for art and antiquity, approaches 
the city of the Tiber for the first time, sees a vast page 
of the world in this parched-up desert ; the isolated 
mounds all here are holy ciphers, entire chapters of 
the world’s history. Painters sketch the solitary 
standing arch of a ruined aqueduct, the shepherd who 
sits under it with his flock figures on the paper ; they 
gives the golden thistle in the foreground, and people 
say that it is a beautiful picture. With what an entirely 
different feeling my conductor and I regarded the 
immense plan ! The burnt-up grass ; the unhealthy 
summer air, which always brings to the dwellers of the 
Campagna fevers and malignant sickness, were doubt- 
less the shadow side of his passing observations. To me 
there was a something novel in all ; I rejoiced to see the 
beautiful mountains, which in every shade of violet-color 
inclosed one side of the plain ; the wild buffalo, and the 
yellow Tiber, on whose shore oxen with their long horns 
went bending under the yoke, and drawing the boat 
against the stream. We proceeded in the same direction. 

Around us we saw only short, yellow grass, and tall, 
half-withered thistles. We passed a crucifix, which had 
been raised as a sign that some one had been murdered 



54 


The Improvisatore. 


there, and near to it hung a portion of the murderer’s 
body, an arm and a foot ; this was frightful to me, and 
all the more so as it stood not far from my new home. 
This was neither more nor less than one of the old 
decayed tombs, of which so many remain here from the 
most ancient times. Most of the shepherds of the 
Campagna dwell in these, because they find in them all 
that they require for shelter, nay, even for comfort. 
They excavate one of the vaults, open a few holes, lay 
on a roof of reeds, and the dwelling is ready. Ours 
stood upon a height, and consisted of two stories. Two 
Corinthian pillars as the narrow doorway bore witness 
to the antiquity of the building, as well as the three 
broad buttresses to its after-repairs. Perhaps it had been 
used in the middle ages as a fort ; a hole in the wall 
above the door served as a window ; one half of the 
roof was composed of a sort of reed and of twigs, the 
other half consisted of living bushes, from among which 
the honeysuckle hung down in rich masses over the 
broken wall. 

“ See, here we are !” said Benedetto ; and it was the 
first word he had said to me on the whole way. 

“ Do we live here ?” I asked, and looked now at the 
gloomy dwelling, now back again to the mutilated 
remains of the robber. Without giving me any reply, 
he called to an old woman, “ Domenica ! — Domenica !” 
and I saw an aged woman, whose sole clothing consisted 
of a coarse shift, with bare arms and legs, and hair 
hanging loosely. She heaped upon me kisses and 
caresses ; and, if father Benedetto had been silent, she 
was only the more talkative ; she called me her little 
Ishmael, who was sent out into the desert, where the 
wild thistles grow. “ But thou shalt not be famished 
with us !” said she. “ Old Domenica will be to thee a 
good mother in the place of her who now prays for thee 


The Improvisator e. 


55 


in heaven ! And I have made thy bed ready for thee, 
and the beans are boiled, and my old Benedetto and thou 
shalt down to table together ! And Mariuccia is not 
then come with you? And thou hast seen the holy 
father ? Yet hast not forgotten some presciutto, nor 
the brass-hook, nor the new picture of the Madonna, 
for us to paste on the door beside the old one, which is 
black with our kissing. No, thou art a man who canst 
remember, who canst think, my own Benedetto !” 

Thus she proceeded with a torrent of words, and led 
us into the small room, which was called the chamber, 
but which afterwards appeared to me as large as the 
hall of the Vatican. I believe indeed that this home 
operated very much upon my poetical turn of mind. 
This little narrow room was, to my imagination, what a 
weight is to the young palm-tree — the more it is com- 
pressed into itself, the more it grows. The house was, 
as has been said already, in the very ancient times, a 
family burial-place, which consisted of a large room, 
with many small niches, side by side, in two rows, one 
above the other, all covered over with the most artisti- 
cal mosaic. Now was each put to very different pur- 
poses ; the one was a store-room, another held pots and 
pans, and a third was the fire-place, where the beans 
were cooked. 

Domenica prepared the table and Benedetto blessed^ 
the food ; when we had had enough, the old mother 
took me up a ladder, through the broken vault in the 
wall, to the second story, where we all slept in two 
great niches, which had once been graves. In the 
farthest was the bed which was prepared for me ; 
beside of it stood two posts supporting a third, from 
which swung a sort of cradle, made of sail-cloth, for a 
little child ; I fancy Mariuccia’s : it was quite still. I 
laid myself down ; a stone had fallen out of the wall, 


56 


The Improvisatore . 


and through the opening I could see the blue air with- 
out, and the dark ivy, which, like a bird, moved itself 
in the wind. As I laid myself down, there ran a thick, 
bright-colored lizard over the wall, but Domenica con- 
soled me by saying that the poor little creature was 
more afraid of me than I of it ; it would do me no 
harm ! and, after repeating over me an Ave Maria, she 
took the cradle over into the other niche where she and 
Benedetto slept. I made the sign of the holy cross, 
thought on my mother, on the Madonna, on my new 
parents, and on the executed robber’s bloody hand and 
foot which I had seen near the house, and these all 
mingled strangely in my dreams this first night. 

The next day began with rain, which continued for a 
whole week, and imprisoned us in the narrow room, in 
which was a half twilight, although the door stood open 
when the wind blew the rain the other way. I had to 
rock the baby which lay in the cradle. Domenica spun 
with her spindle ; told me tales of the robbers of the 
Campagna, who, however, did no harm ; sang pious 
songs to me, taught me new prayers, and related to me 
new legends of saints which I had not heard before. 
Onions and bread were our customary food, and I 
thought them good ; but I grew weary of myself shut 
up in that narrow room ; and then Domenica just out- 
side the door dug a little canal, a little winding Tiber, 
where the yellow water flowed slowly away. Little 
sticks and reeds were my boats, which I made to sail 
past Rome to Ostia ; but, when the rain beat in too 
violently, the door was obliged to be shut, and we sat 
almost in the dark. Domenica spun, and I thought 
about the beautiful pictures in the convent church ; 
seemed to see J esus tossing past me in the boat ; the 
Madonna on the cloud borne upwards by angels, and 
the tombstones with the garlanded heads. 


The Imp rovisct tore. 


5 7 


When the rainy season was over, the heavens showed 
for whole months their unchangeable blue. I then 
obtained leave to go out, but not too far, nor too near 
to the river, because the soft ground might so easily fall 
in with me, said Domenica ; many buffaloes also grazed 
there, which were wild and dangerous, but, neverthe- 
less, those had for me a peculiar and strange interest. 
The something demon-like in the look of the buffalo — 
the strange red fire which gleamed in its eyeballs, 
awoke in me a feeling like that which drives the bird 
into the fangs of the snake. Their wild running, 
swifter than the speed of a horse, their mutual combats, 
where force meets with force, attracted my whole atten- 
tion. I scrawled figures in the sand to represent what 
I had seen, and to make this the more intelligible, I 
sang it all in its own peculiar words to its own peculiar 
melody, to the great delight of old Domenica, who said 
that I was a wise child, and sang as sweetly as the 
angels in heaven. 

The sun burnt hotter day by day ; its beams were 
like a sea of fire which streamed over the Campagna. 
The stagnant water infected the air ; we could only go 
out in the morning and evening ; such heat as this I 
had not known in Rome upon the airy Monte Pincio, 
although I well remembered then the hot time when 
the beggars had prayed, not for small coin, not for bread, 
but for a glass of iced water. I thought in particular 
about the delicious green watermelons which lay one 
on another, divided in halves, and showed the purple- 
red flesh with the black seeds ; my lips were doubly 
parched with thinking of these ! The sun burned per- 
pendicularly ; my shadow seemed as if it would vanish 
under my feet. The buffaloes lay like dead masses 
upon the bumt-up grass, or, excited to madness, flew, 
with the speed of arrows, round in great circles. Thus 


5S 


The Improvisatore . 


my soul conceived an idea of the travelers' suffering in 
the burning deserts of Africa. 

During two months we lay there like a wreck in the 
world’s sea. Not a single living creature visited us. 
All business was done in the night or else in the early 
hours of morning ; the unhealthy atmosphere and the 
scorching heat excited fever-fire in my blood ; not a 
single drop of anything cold could be had for refresh- 
ment ; every marsh was dried up ; warm, yellow water 
flowed sleepily in the bed of the Tiber ; the juice of the 
melon was warm ; even wine, although it lay hidden 
among stones and rubbish, tasted sour and half boiled, 
and not a cloud, not a single cloud, was to be seen on 
the horizon — day and night always the everlasting, 
never- changing blue. Every evening and morning we 
prayed for rain, or else a fresh breeze ; every evening 
and morning, Domenica looked to the mountains to see 
if no cloud raised itself, but night alone brought shade 
— the sultry shade of night ; the sirocco alone blew 
through the hot atmosphere for two long, long months. 

At the sun’s rise and setting alone was there a breath 
of fresh air ; but a dullness, a death-like lethargy pro- 
duced by the heat, and the frightful weariness which it 
occasioned, oppressed my whole being. This and all 
kind of tormenting insects, which seemed destroyed by 
the heat, awoke at the first breath of air to redoubled 
life ; they fell upon us in myriads with their poison- 
stings ; the buffaloes often looked as if they were 
covered over with this buzzing swarm, which beset them 
as if they were carrion, until, tormented to madness, 
they betook themselves to the Tiber, and rolled them- 
selves in the yellow water. The Roman who in the hot 
summer days groans in the almost expiring streets, and 
crawls along by the house-sides, as if he would drink 
up the shadow which is cast down from the walls, has 


The Improvisatore. 


59 


still no idea of the sufferings in the Campagna, where 
every breath which he draws is sulphurous, poisonous 
fire ; where insects and crawling things, like demons, 
torment him who is condemned to live in this sea of 
flame. 

September brought with it milder days ; it sent out 
also Federigo one evening to make sketches of the 
burned-up landscape. He drew our singular house, the 
gallows, and the wild buffaloes. He gave me paper and 
pencils, that I also might draw pictures, and promised 
that when he came next time he would take me with 
him for a day to Rome, that I should visit Fra Martino 
and Mariuccia, and all my friends, who seemed really to 
have quite forgotten me — but Federigo forgot me also. 

It was now November, and the most beautiful time 
which I had yet spent here. Cool airs were wafted from 
the mountains, and every evening I saw in the clouds 
that rich coloring which is only found in the south, and 
which the painter cannot and dare not give to his pic- 
tures. The singular, olive-green clouds, on a grey 
ground, were to me floating islands from the garden of 
paradise ; the dark-blue, on the contrary, those which 
hung like crowns of fir-trees in the glowing fire of the 
evening heaven, seemed to me mountains of felicity, in 
whose valleys the beautiful angels played and fanned 
cool breezes with their white wings. 

One evening as I sat sunk in my reveries, I found' 
that I could gaze on the sun by looking through a finely 
pricked leaf. Domenica said that it would injure my 
eyes, and, to put an end to the sport, she fastened the 
door. The time went on wearily ; I prayed her to let 
me go out, and, as she consented, I sprang up gladly, 
and opened the door, but at the same moment a man 
darted in so suddenly that I was thrown to the ground ; 
with equal speed he closed the door again ; scarcely had 


6o 


The Improvisatore. 


I perceived his pale, agitated countenance, and heard 
him in a tone of distress utter the name of the Madonna, 
when a violent blow so shattered the door, that it gave 
way and fell inward, and the whole opening was filled 
with the head of a buffalo, which glared upon us with 
his malicious, fiery eyes. 

Domenica gave a scream, seized me by the arm, and 
sprang up several steps of the ladder which led to the 
upper room. The stranger, pale as death, cast his eyes 
timidly around him, and perceiving Benedetto’s gun, 
which, in case of nocturnal inroads, always hung on the 
wall ready-charged, he seized it in a moment. I heard 
the report, and saw in the cloud of smoke how he had 
shot the beast through the forehead. It stood immova- 
bly there, squeezed into the narrow doorway, and could 
neither come forward nor be moved backward. 

“ But all ye saints !” exclaimed Domenica, “ what have 
you done ? You have really taken the life of the beast !” 

“ Blessed be Madonna !” replied the stranger ; “ she 
has saved my life, and thou wast my good angel !” said 
he, lifting me from the ground. “ Thou openedst the 
door of salvation for me !” He was yet quite pale and 
the cold sweat-drops stood upon his forehead. 

We heard immediately by his speech that he was no 
foreigner, and saw that he must be a noble from Rome. 
He related, moreover, that it was his pleasure to collect 
flowers and plants ; that for this purpose he had left his 
carriage at Ponte Molle,* and was going along the 
banks of the Tiber. Not far from us he had fallen 
upon the buffaloes, one of which had immediately fol- 
lowed him, and he alone was saved by the nearness of 
our house, and by the door suddenly opening, as if by 
miracle. 


* Pons Milvius. 


The Improvisator e . 


61 


“ Holy Maria, pray for us !” exclaimed Domenica ; 
“ yes, she has saved you, the holy mother of God ! and 
my little Antonio was one of her elect ! yes, she loves 
him ! Excellenza does not know what a child that is ! 
read can he, everything, whether it is printed or writ- 
ten ! and draw so naturally, that one can see directly 
whatever it is meant for. The dome of St. Peter’s, the 
buffaloes, ay, even fat Father Ambrosius, has he drawn ; 
and then for his voice ! Excellenza should hear him 
sing ; the Pope’s singers could not excel him ; and 
besides that, he is a good child, a strange child. I 
would not praise him when he is present, because chil- 
dren cannot bear praise ; but he deserves it !” 

“ He is, then, not your own son ?” inquired the 
stranger ; “he is too young for that.” 

“ And I am too old,” replied she. “ No, an old fig- 
tree has no such little heart-shoots ; the poor child has 
no other father and mother in the world than me and 
my Benedetto. But we will not part with him, even 
when we have not a stiver left of the money ! But then, 
Holy Virgin !” said she, interrupting herself, and taking 
hold of the horns of the buffalo, from the head of which 
the blood streamed into the room, “ we must have this 
beast away ! one can neither come in n®r go out. Ah, 
yes ! it is jammed in quite fast. We can’t get out before 
Benedetto comes. If it only do not bring us into trouble 
that the beast is killed !” 

“You may be quite easy, good woman,” said the 
stranger; “I will answer for all. You have heard, 
perhaps, of the Borghese ?” 

“ O Principe !” exclaimed Domenica, and kissed his 
clothes ; but he pressed her hand and took mine between 
his, as he desired her to take me in the morning to Rome, 
to the Borghese Palace, where he lived, and to which 
family he belonged. Tears filled the eyes of my old 


62 


The Improvisator e. 


foster-mother on account of his great favor, as she 
called it. My abominable scratches upon bits of paper, 
which she had preserved with as much care as if they 
had been the sketches of a Michael Angelo, must now 
be brought out. Excellenza must see everything which 
had pleased her, and I was proud because he smiled, 
patted my cheeks, and said that I was a little Salvator 
Rosa. 

“ Yes,” said Domenica, “ is it not extraordinary for a 
child ? and is it not so natural that one can plainly see 
*what all is meant for ? The buffaloes, the boats, and 
our little house. See ! and that is meant for me ! it is 
just like me ; only it wants coloring, for that he can’t 
do with pencil. Now sing for Excellenza !” said she to 
me ; “ sing as well as thou canst, with thy own words ! 
Yes, he can put together whole histories and sermons as 
well as any monk ! Nay, let us hear ! Excellenza is a 
gracious gentleman, he wishes it, and thou knowest how 
to keep tune.” 

The stranger smiled, and amused himself with us 
both. That Domenica should think my improvisation 
quite a masterpiece, was a thing of course ; but what I 
sang, and how, I remember not, and yet that the 
Madonna, Exqpllenza, and the buffalo, were the poetical 
triad of the whole, I recollect distinctly. Excellenza sat 
silent, and Domenica read in this silence astonishment 
at my genius. 

“ Bring the boy with you,” were the first words which 
he spoke. “ I will expect you early to-morrow morning. 
Yet, no — come in the evening, an hour before the Ave 
Maria. When you come, my people shall be instructed 
immediately to admit you. But how am I to get out ? 
Have you any other mode of exit than this where the 
beast lies ? and how shall I, without any danger from 
the buffaloes, get to my carriage at Pont Molle ?” 


The Im p 7'0visa tore. 


63 


“ Yes, getting out,” said Domenica ; “ there is no pos- 
sibility of that for Excellenza. I can, to be sure, and so 
can the rest of us ; but it is no way for such a great 
gentleman ! Above here there is a hole where one can 
creep out, and then slide down quite well ; that even I 
can do in my old age ! but it is, as I said, not quite the 
thing for strangers and grand gentle-folks !” 

Excellenza mounted in the meantime up the narrow 
steps, stuck his head through the hole in the wall, and 
declared it was as good a way as the steps of the Capitol. 
The buffaloes had betaken themselves long ago to the 
Tiber, and on the road, not far from us, went a crowd 
of peasants sleepily and slowly along the great highway. 
These he would join ; behind their wagon, laden with 
reeds, he was safe from the buffaloes, if these ventured 
on a new attack. Yet once more he impressed it upon 
old Domenica to come the next day, an hour before the 
Ave Maria, extended his hand to her to kiss, stroked my 
cheek, and let himself slide down the thick ivy. We 
soon saw him overtake the wagon, behind which he 
vanished. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE VISIT IN THE BORGHESE PALACE — END OF THE HIS- 
TORY OF MY CHILDHOOD. 

Benedetto and a couple of herdsmen afterwards 
removed the animal from the doorway ; there was a 
great talking and gossiping, but that which I distinctly 
remember was, that next morning, before break of day, 
I was awake and up, because towards evening I was 
going to the city with Domenica. My Sunday clothes, 


6 4 


The Improvisatore . 


which had lain for many months under lock and key, 
were now brought out, and a lovely rose was fastened 
into my little hat. My shoes were the worst part of my 
habiliments, and it would have been a difficult thing to 
decide whether they were that which they were called, 
or were not rather a pair of antique Roman sandals. 

How long was it across the Campagna now, and how 
the sun burned ! Never, in later times, has the wine of 
Falernia and Cyprus tasted more delicious to me than the 
water which now poured from the mouth of the stone lion 
in the Piazzo del Popolp.* I pressed my warm cheek to 
the jaws of the lion, and let the water spout over my head, 
to the great horror of Domenica, since by so doing my 
dress was wet and my hair disorderly. In the meantime 
we strolled down the Via Ripetta towards the Borghese 
Palace. How often before now had I, and Domenica no 
less, gone past this building without regarding it other- 
wise than any other indifferent object ; but now we 
stood and contemplated it in regular silence ; all seemed 
so great to us, so magnificent, so rich, and especially the 
long silken curtains in the windows. We knew Excel- 
lenza within there ; he was actually at our house yester- 
day ; that gave a peculiar interest to the whole. I shall 
never forget the strange tremor which the pomp of 


* In coming to Rome from the north, the way passes through 
the gate del Popolo, and the traveler then finds himself in the 
large, beautiful Piazzo del Popolo, which lies between the Tiber 
and Monte Pincio. On either hand he sees, under the shade of 
cypresses and acac ias, modern statues and fountains, and in the 
middle of the square, between the well-known four stone lions, 
stands an obelisk of the time of Sesostris. Beyond lie the three 
straight streets, Via Babuino, II Corso, and Via Ripetta, two uni- 
form churches terminating the principal one, II Corso. No city 
can have a more pleasant, more gay, cheerful appearance than old 
Rome from this point . — Author s Note. 






The Tmprovisa tore. 


65 


the building and of the rooms produced in me ; I had 
talked quite familiarly with Excellenza ; he was, in 
reality, a human being like all the rest of us ; but all 
this possession, this magnificence ! yes, now I was aware 
of the glory which separated the holy from mankind. 
In the centre of the palace four lofty whitewashed col- 
onnades, filled with statues and busts, inclosed a little 
garden ;* tall aloes and cactuses grew up the pillars ; 
citron-trees stood there with grass-green fruit, which 
was not yet yellowed by the sun. Two dancing Bac- 
chantes held a water-bowl aloft, but so obliquely that 
the water streamed upon their shoulders ; tall water- 
plants drooped over them their juicy green leaves. 
How cool, green, and fragrant was everything here in 
comparison with the sterile, burned-up, burning Cam- 
pagna ! 

We ascended the broad marble steps. Beautiful stat- 
ues stood in niches, before one of which Domenica 
knelt, and piously made the sign of the cross. She 
thought that it was the Madonna ; afterwards I learned 
that it was Vesta, the holy virgin, also of a more ancient 
time. Servants in rich livery received us ; they met us 
so kindly that my fear would somewhat have abated 
had not the hall been so large and so magnificent ! The 
floor was of marble as smooth as glass, and on all the 
walls hung beautiful pictures ; and where these were 
not, the walls were covered with looking-glass, and 
painted with angels who bore garlands and sprays of 
flowers, and with beautiful birds that extended their 
broad wings and pecked at red and golden fruit. Never 
had I seen anything so splendid [ 

We had to wait a few minutes, and then Excellenza 


* This little garden has been since then altered into a flagged 
court. — Ibid . 


66 


The Improvisatore . 


entered, accompanied by a beautiful lady dressed in 
white, with large, lively eyes, which she riveted upon us. 
She looked at me with a singularly penetrating but 
kind glance, stroked my hair from my forehead, and said 
to him, “ Yes, as I said, an angel has saved you ! * I’ll 
wager that there are wings under that ugly, narrow 
jacket.” 

“ No,” he replied, “ I read in his red cheeks that the 
Tiber will send many waves to the sea before his wings 
shoot out ; the old mother will rather not that he should 
fly away. That’s true, is it not ? You would not like to 
part with him ?” 

“ No ; that would be the same as blocking up the 
door and window of my little house ! then it would be 
dark and lonesome ; no, I can’t part with the sweet 
child !” 

“ But for this one evening,” said the lady, “ he can 
stop some hours with us, and then you can fetch him ; 
you have beautiful moonlight to go back in, and you 
are not afraid of robbers ?” 

“ Yes, the boy stops here for an hour, and you, in the 
meantime, can go and buy one thing and another that 
you have need of at home,” said Excellenza, and thrust 
a little purse into Domenica’s hand. I heard no more, 
for the lady took me with her into the hall, and left him 
and the old mother together. 

The rich splendor, the high-born company, quite 
dazzled me ; now I looked at the smiling angel- children 
that peeped forth from among the green vine-leaves on 
the walls ; now on the violet-stockinged senators and 
the red-legged cardinals, who had always appeared to 
me as a sort of demi-gods, but in whose circle I seemed 
now to be received. But, above all, my eye was 
attracted to the beautiful Cupid which, like a lovely 
child, rode upon the ugly dolphin, which threw up two 


The Improvisatore. 


67 


great streams of water, that fell back again into the 
basin in which it swam in the middle of the hall. 

The high-bred company, nay, even the cardinals and 
senators smiled to me a welcome, and a young, hand- 
some man, dressed as an officer of the papal guard, 
extended to me his hand, when the young lady intro- 
duced me as her uncle’s good angel. They asked me a 
thousand questions to which I readily replied, and soon 
resounded laughter and the clapping of hands. Excel- 
lenza came up, and said that I must sing them a song, 
which I did willingly. The young officer gave me a 
glass of foaming wine, but the young lady shook her 
head and took the wine glass from me before I had 
emptied it. Like fire and flame the wine went through 
my blood. The officer said that I must sing about the 
handsome lady who stood smiling beside me, and I joy- 
fully did as he desired. Heaven knows what I mixed 
up together, but my stream of words passed for elo- 
quence, my boldness for wit ; and because I was a poor 
lad from the Campagna, the whole bore the stamp of 
genius. All applauded me, and the officer himself took 
a wreath of laurel from a bust which stood in a corner, 
and placed it, half smiling, on my head. The whole 
was a jest, yet I regarded it as sober earnestness — as a 
homage which made me happy, and made this the 
brightest moment of my life. I sang to them the songs 
which Mariuccia and Domenica had taught me ; 
described to them the wicked eyes of the buffaloes and 
our room in the ruined tomb. Only too quickly passed 
the time ; I must now go home again with my old fos- 
ter-mother. Laden with cakes, fruit, and several silver 
coins, I followed her ; she was as happy as I was ; had 
made many purchases ; articles of clothing, cooking- 
vessels, and two great bottles of wine. The evening 
was infinitely beautiful. The night slumbered upon 


68 


The Improvisator e. 


trees and shrubs, but high above us hung the full moon, 
which, like a lovely golden boat in the far outspread 
dark blue sea of air, sent down coolness over the bumt- 
up Campagna. 

I thought upon the rich saloon, the kind lady, and the 
many applauding claps ; dreamed, both waking and 
sleeping, the same delicious dream, which was speedily 
to be reality — beautiful reality. 

More than once was I fetched to Rome. The lovely, 
friendly lady, amused herself with my peculiar turn of 
mind ; she made me tell her tales, talk to her just as I 
did to old Domenica ; she had great delight in it, and 
praised me to Excellenza. He, too, was kind to me, 
doubly kind, inasmuch as he was the innocent cause of 
my mother’s death ; for he it was who sat in the 
carriage when the runaway horses passed over her 
head. The beautiful lady was called Francesca ; she 
often took me with her into the rich picture-gallery 
which the Borghese Palace contained ; my naive 
questions and observations on the glorious pictures 
made her smile ; she told them again to others, and all 
laughed with her. In the mornings the hall was filled 
with strangers, who came from beyond the mountains. 
Artists also at that time copied various paintings, but in 
the afternoons the pictures were left to their own soli- 
tude ; then Francesca and I went in, and she related to 
me many histories, to which the pictures gave occasion. 

“ The Seasons,” by Francesca Albani, were beyond all 
others my favorite pieces ; the beautiful, joyous, angel- 
children, Loves, as she taught me to call them, were as 
if creations of my own dreams. How deliciously they 
were staggering about in the picture of Spring. A 
crowd of them were sharpening arrows, whilst one of 
them turned round the great grindstone, and two 
others, floating above, poured water upon it. In sum- 


The Improvisator e . 


69 


mer they flew among- the green trees which were 
loaded with fruit, which they plucked. They swam in 
the fresh water, and played with it. Autumn brought 
the pleasures of the chase. Cupid sits with a torch in 
his hand, in his little chariot, which two of his comrades 
draw ; whilst Love beckons to the brisk hunter, and 
shows him the pla.ce where they can rest themselves; 
side by side. Winter has lulled all the little ones to 
sleep ; soundly and fast they lie slumbering around. 
The Nymphs steal their quivers and arrows, which they 
throw on the fire, that there may be an end of the dan- 
gerous weapons. 

Why' angels were called Loves ? why they went about 
shooting? — yes, there were many things of which I 
wanted to have a plainer explanation than Francesca at 
this moment gave me. 

“ Thou must read thyself about them,” said she ; 
“ there is a great deal with which thou must become 
acquainted, but the beginning is not attractive ! The 
whole day long thou must sit on a bench with thy book, 
not play with the goats in the Campagna, or go here 
and there looking after thy little friends ! Which now 
shouldst thou like best, either to ride with a helmet and 
sword beside the coach of the holy father, and wear a 
fine suit of armor from head to foot, like that in which 
thou hast seen Fabiani, or to understand all the beauti- 
ful pictures which thou seest here, know the whole 
world around thee, and a thousand histories far more 
beautiful than those which I have told thee ?” 

“ But can I then never again come to thee ?” asked I, 
“ can I not live with good Domenica ?” 

“ Dost thou still remember thy mother, thy dear 
home with her ? Then thou desiredst ever to remain 
there ; thought not of Domenica, not of me ; and now 
we are both of us so much to thee, In a short time thi§ 


70 


The Improvisatore. 


may be again the case ; and so it goes through one’s 
whole life.” 

“ But you two are not dead, like my mother !” I 
replied, with tears in my eyes. 

“ Die or part must we all ! There will come a time 
when we shall not all be altogether as we are now, and 
I then would know thee joyful and happy.” 

A torrent of tears was my answer ; I felt very 
unhappy, without properly knowing how to explain the 
cause of my being so. Francesca patted me on the 
cheek, and said that I was quite too sensitive, and that 
this was not at all good in the world. Now came 
Excellenza, and the young officer with him, who had 
placed the garland on my head the first time I had 
improvised before him. He was called Fabiani, and 
was also very fond of me. 

“ There is a marriage, a splendid marriage at the 
Villa Borghese,” was shouted some evenings afterwards, 
till it reached Domenica’s poor house on the Campagna. 
Francesca was the bride of Fabiana, and must now, in 
a few days, accompany him to his seat near Florence. 
The marriage was celebrated at the Villa Borghese, 
just in the neighborhood of Rome, in the beautiful 
thick grove of laurels and evergreen oaks, where the 
lofty pines, winter and summer, lift up their perpetu- 
ally bright green crowns into the blue air. Then, as 
now, was that grove a place of recreation for the 
Romans, as well as for strangers. Rich equipages 
rolled along the thick oak-valleys ; white swans swam 
on the still lakes, within which the weeping willow was 
mirrored, and where artificial cascades fell over blocks 
of stone. High-breasted Roman women, with flashing 
eyes, rolled forth to the festival, and looked proudly 
down upon the life-enjoying peasant-girl, who danced 
upon the highway to the music of her tambourine. 


The Improvisatore. 


7i 


Old Domenica went with me all the long way across 
the Campagna, that we also might be together at the 
bridal of our benefactress. Outside the garden, where 
the tall aloes grew up like espaliers along the white 
wall, we stood and saw the lights shine in the windows. 
Francesca and Fabiana were married. From the saloon 
came forth to us the sound of music ; and from the 
green plain on which the amphitheatre was erected, 
rockets mounted, and beautiful fireworks played in the 
blue air. The shadows of a lady and gentleman were 
seen on the curtains of one of the lofty windows. “ It 
is he and she !” said Domenica. The shadows bent 
towards each other in the half-darkened window as if to 
unite in a kiss. I saw my old foster-mother fold her 
hands and pray ; I also sank down involuntarily before 
the black cypresses, and prayed for my beloved, good 
signora ; Domenica kneeled with me. “ May they be 
happy !” and now rained the fire, like a thousand falling 
stars, as if in token of assent from heaven. But my 
good old mother wept, wept for me who was soon to be 
separated from her. Excellenza had purchased me a 
place in the Jesuits’ school, where I was to be brought 
up with other children, and to a more splendid life than 
old Domenica and the Campagna could afford me. 

“ It is now for the last time,” said the old mother, 
“ that we two, whilst my eyes are yet open, shall go 
together over the Campagna ! Thy feet will tread on 
polished floors, and on gay carpets ; these old Domenica 
has not ; but thou hast been a good child ; thou wilt 
remain so, and never forget me and poor Benedetto ! 
Oh, God ! yet can a dish of roasted chestnuts make thee 
happy ! Thou shalt sit and blow up the reeds, and I 
will see God’s angel in thy eyes, when the reeds bum, 
and the poor chestnuts roast ; so glad wilt thou never 
more be with so small a gift ! The thistles of the Cam- 


72 


The Improvisatore. 


pagna bear yet red flowers ; upon the polished floors of 
the rich there grow no straws, and the ground is 
smooth, one falls so easily there ! Never forget that 
thou wast a poor child, my little Antonio. Remember 
that thou must see and not see, hear and not hear ; then 
thou wilt get through the world. Some day, when our 
Lord has called away me and Benedetto, when the little 
child which thou hast rocked goes creeping through life 
with a poor partner in the Campagna, thou wilt, per- 
haps, then go past in thy own chariot, or on a fine 
horse ; halt thou before the old tomb-chamber where 
thou hast slept, played, and lived with us, and thou wilt 
see strangers living there, who will bow themselves 
deeply before thee. Haughty thou wilt not be, but 
think upon old times, think upon old Domenica ! Look 
in at the place where the chestnuts were cooked, and 
where thou rockedst the little child. Thou wilt think 
upon thy own poor childhood, thou heart’s darling 
child !” With this she kissed me, and clasped me closely 
to her breast and wept : it seemed to me as if my heart 
would break. 

Our return home and her words were to me far more 
distressing than our parting even, somewhat later ; then 
she said nothing, but only wept ; and when we were 
outside the door she ran back, and took down the old, 
half-blackened picture of the Madonna, which was 
pasted behind the door, and gave it to me ; I had kissed 
it so often — it was the only thing which she had to 
give me. 



CHAPTER VII. 

SCHOOL-LIFE — HABBAS DAHDAH — DIVINA COMEDIA — THE 
senator’s NEPHEW. 

Signora had journeyed away with her husband ; I 
was become a scholar in the school of the J esuits ; new 
occupations engrossed me ; new acquaintances pre- 
sented themselves ; the dramatical portion of my life 
begins to unfold itself. Here years compress them- 
selves together ; every hour is rich in change, a whole 
cycle of pictures, which, now seen from a distant point 
of view, melt together into one great painting — my 
school-life. As it is to the stranger who for the first 
time ascends the mountains, and now looks down from 
above over a sea of clouds and mist, which, by degrees, 
raises itself or separates, so that now a mountain-top 
with a city peeps forth ; now the sun-illumined part of 
a valley reveals itself. Thus comes forward and 
changes the world of my mind. Lands and cities, 
about which I had never dreamed, lay hid behind the 
mountains which bounded the Campagna ; history 
peopled every portion of the earth for me, and sang to 
me strange legends and adventures ; every flower, 
every plant, contained a meaning ; but most beautiful 
to me appeared my fatherland, the glorious Italia ! I 
was proud of being a Roman ; every point in my native 
city was dear and interesting to me ; the broken capi- 


74 


The Improvisatore. 


tals, which were thrown down as corner-stones in the 
narrow streets, were to me holy relics — Memnon’s pil- 
lars, which sang strangely to my heart. The reeds by 
the Tiber whispered to me of Romulus and Remus ; 
triumphal arches, pillars, and statues, impressed upon 
me yet more deeply the history of my fatherland. I 
lived in its classical antiquity, and the present time, 
that will speak for itself ; my teacher of history gave 
me praise and honor for it. 

Every society, the political as well as the spiritual, 
assembles in the taverns, and the elegant circles around 
the card-tables of the rich, all have their harlequin ; 
he bears now a mace, orders, or ornaments ; a school 
has him no less. The young eyes easily discover the 
butt of their jests. We had ours, as well as any other 
club, and ours was the most solemn, the most grumbling, 
growling, preaching of harlequins, and, on that account, 
the most exquisite. The Abbe Habbas Dahdah, an 
Arab by descent, but educated from his earliest child- 
hood in the papal jurisdiction, was at this time the guide 
and director of our taste, the aesthetical head of the 
Jesuit school, nay, of the Academia Tiberina. 

In later years I have often reflected on poetry, that 
singular divine inspiration. It appears to me like the 
rich gold ore in the mountains ; refinement and educa- 
tion are the wise workmen who know how to purify it. 
Sometimes purely unmixed ore-dust is met with, the 
lyrical improvisation of the poet by nature. One vein 
yields gold, another silver ; but there are also tin, and 
even more ordinary metals found, which are not to be 
despised, and which sometimes can, with polishing and 
adorning, be made to look like gold and silver. Accord- 
ing to these various metals I now rank my poets, as 
golden, silver, copper, and iron men. But after these 
comes a new class, who only work in simple potter’s 


The Improvisatore. 


75 


clay — the poetasters — yet who desire as much to be 
admitted to the true guild. H abbas Dahdah was one 
of these, and had just ability sufficient to make a sort 
of ware, which with a kind of poetical facility he over- 
whelmed people, with whom, as regards deep feeling and 
poetical spirit, he could not measure himself. Easy, 
flexile verses, and the artistical formation of them, so 
that they only brought before the eye existences, hearts, 
and other such things, obtained from him admiration 
and applause. 

It might be, therefore, perhaps only the very pecu- 
liar melody of Petrarch’s sonnets that attracted him to 
this poet. Perhaps, also, only fashion, or a fixed idea, a 
bright gleam in the sickliness of his views, for Petrarch 
and Habbas Dahdah were extremely different beings. 
He compelled us to learn by heart almost a fourth part 
of the long epic poem, “ Africa,” where salt tears and 
blows rained down in honor of Scipio.* 

The profoundness of Petrarch was daily impressed 
upon us. “ Superficial poets,” said he, “ those who only 
paint with water-colors, children of fancy, are the very 
spawn of corruption ; and among the very greatest of 
these that Dante, who set heaven, earth, and hell in 
movement to obtain immortality, which Petrarch “has 
already won by a single little sonnet — is disgusting, 
very disgusting ! To be sure he could write verse ! It 
is these billows of sound which cany his Tower of 
Babel to the latest age. If he had only followed his 
first plan, and had written in Latin, he would have 
shown study ; but that was inconvenient to him, and so 


* In order to immortalize himself and the Scipios, Petrarch 
wrote an epic poem called “ Africa,” which is now forgotten in 
the glory of his melodious sonnets to Laura, which he himself did 
not set any high value upon . — Author s Note. 


7 6 


The Improvisator e . 


he wrote in the vulgate which we now have. ‘ It is a 
stream/ says Boccaccio, ‘through which a lion can 
swim, and a lamb may walk.’ I find not this depth 
and this simplicity. There is in him no right founda- 
tion, an eternal swaying between the past and the 
present ! But Petrarch, that Apostle of the truth, did 
not exhibit his fury with the pen by placing a dead 
pope or emperor in hell ; he stood in his time like the 
Chorus in the Greek tragedy, a male Cassandra, warn- 
ing and blaming popes and princes. Face to face he 
dared to say to Charles the Fourth, ‘ One can see in 
thee that virtues are not heritable !’ When Rome and 
Paris wished to offer him the garland, he turned to his 
contemporaries with a noble self consciousness, and 
bade them to declare aloud whether he were worthy to 
be crowned as a poet. For three days he submitted to 
an examination as if he were a regular school-boy like 
you, before he would ascend the Capitol, where the 
King of Naples hung around him the purple mantle, 
and the Roman senate gave to him the laurel crown 
which Dante never obtained.” 

Such was every oration which he made, to elevate 
Petrarch and depreciate Dante, instead of placing the 
noble pair side by side, like the fragrant night- violet 
and the blooming rose. We had to learn all his son- 
nets by heart. Of Dante we read not a word ; and I 
only learned through the censure of Habbas Dahdah 
that he had occupied himself with heaven, purgatory, 
and hell — three elements which attracted me in the 
highest degree, and inspired me with the greatest 
desire to become acquainted with his works. But this 
could only be done in secret ; Habbas Dahdah would 
never have forgiven me meddling with this forbidden 
fruit. 

One day as I was walking on the Piazzo Navone, 


The Improvisatore. 


77 


among the piled-up oranges, and the iron wares which 
lay on the ground, among the old clothes, and all that 
chaos of rags which this place exhibits, I came upon a 
table of old books and prints. There lay caricatures of 
maccaroni-swallowers, Madonnas with the sword in the 
bleeding-heart, and such like highly dissimilar things. 
A single volume of Metastasio drew my attention ; I 
had a paolo in my pocket — a great sum for me, and the 
last remains of the scudi which Excellenza had given 
me half a year before for pocket-money. I was willing 
to expend a few bajocci* on Metastasio, but I could not 
separate myself from my whole paolo. The bargain 
was nearly closed, when my eyes caught a title page, 
“ Divina Comedia di Dante ” — my forbidden fruit of 
the tree of the knowledge of good and evil ! I threw 
down Metastasio and seized the other ; but the price of 
this was too high for me, three paoli I could not raise. 
I turned the money in my hand till it burned like fire, 
but it would not double itself, and I could only beat 
down the seller to that price. This was the best book 
in Italy — the first poetical work in the world, he said, 
and a stream of eloquence over Dante, the depreciated 
Dante of Habbas Dahdah, poured from the lips of the 
honest man. 

“ Every leaf,” said he, “ is as good as a sermon. He 
is a prophet of God, under whose guidance one passes 
through the flames of hell, and through the eternal 
paradise. You do not know him, young gentleman ! 
or otherwise you would immediately give the price if I 
asked a scudi for him ! For your whole life long you 
have then the most beautiful book of the fatherland, 
and that for two poor paoli !” 


* A scudi contains ten paolo, and a paoli ten bajocci ; these 
last are copper coins, the other silver . — Author s Note . 


78 


The Improv is at ore. 


Ah ! I would willingly have given three if I had but 
had them, but now it was with me as with the fox and 
the sour grapes ; I also would show my wisdom, and 
retailed a part of Habbas Dahdah’s oration against Dante, 
whilst I exalted Petrarch. 

“ Yes, yes !” said the bookseller, after he had vindi- 
cated his poet with much violence and warmth, “ you 
are too young, and I am too much of a layman to be 
able to judge such people. They may both be very 
good in their way. You have not read him ! you can- 
not ! A young, warm fellow cannot cherish bitterness 
against a world’s prophet !” 

As I now honestly confessed to him that my opinion 
was merely founded upon the judgment of my teacher, 
out of inspiration for his poet’s works, he seized the 
book and threw it to me, demanding only, in return 
for the paolo short, that I would now read it, and not 
condemn the pride of Italy, her beloved, divine Dante. 

O how happy that book made me ! It was now my 
own, my own forever. I had always cherished a doubt 
of the bitter judgment of Habbas Dahdah ; my curiosity 
and the warmth of the bookseller excited me in the 
highest degree, so that I could hardly wait for the 
moment when, unseen by others, I could begin the 
book. 

A new life was now opened to me ; my imagination 
found in Dante an undiscovered America, where nature 
operated on a larger and more luxuriant scale than I 
had before seen, where were more majestic mountains, 
a richer pomp of color. I took in the great whole, and 
suffered and enjoyed with the immortal singer. The 
inscription over the entrance to hell rung within me, 
during my wandering with him below, like the tolling 
for the last judgment -• 


The Improvisa tore. 


79 


“ Through me ye enter the abode of woe ; 

Through me to endless sorrow are ye brought ; 
Through me amid the souls accurst ye go. 

Justice did first my lofty maker move : 

By power Almighty was my fabric wrought, 

By highest wisdom, and by primal love.” * 

I saw in that air, ever black, like the sand of the 
desert which is whirled by the tempest, the race of 
Adam falling like leaves in autumn, whilst lamenting 
spirits howled in the torrent of air. Tears filled my 
eyes at the sight of noble, lofty beings, who, unpartici- 
pants of Christianity, had here their abode. Homer, 
Socrates, Brutus, Virgil, and many others, the noblest 
and best of antiquity, were here, forever remote from 
Paradise. It was not enough for me that Dante had 
made everything as comfortable and well as it could be 
in hell. Existence there was yet a grief without suffer- 
ing, a hopeless longing ; they belonged still to the 
realm of the damned, were inclosed by the deep marshes 
of hell, from which the sighs of the damned rose up 
bubble on bubble of poisonous and pestilent vapor. 
Wherefore had not Christ, when he was down in hell, 
and again ascended to the right hand of the Father, 
taken all with him out of the Valley of Longing ? 
Could love make a selection among the equally unfortu- 
nate ? I forgot entirely that the whole was but a 
fiction. The deep sigh from the sea of boiling pitch 
went to my heart ; I saw them, saw the herd of Simon- 
ists come up, and the demons that pushed them down 
again with their sharp forks. The living descriptions 
stamped themselves deeply on my soul, and mingled in 
my ideas by day and my dreams by night. Often when 


Wright’s Dante. 


8o 


The Improvisatore . 


I slept they heard me exclaim, “ Pape Satan, alepp 
Satan Pape !” They fancied that I had combats with 
the Devil, and it was reminiscences of that which I had 
read that I repeated. 

In the hours of instruction my mind wandered — a 
thousand ideas thronged in upon me. With the utmost 
willingness to do so, I could not drive them away. 
“ What art thou thinking of, Antonio ?” they exclaimed 
to me ; and shame and terror overwhelmed me, for I 
knew very well what I was thinking of — but to leave 
Dante, and not to finish wandering, was to me impossi- 
ble. 

The day seemed to me long and oppressive, like the 
gilded mantle of lead which the hypocrite was com- 
pelled to wear in the hell of Dante. With uneasiness 
of heart I crept to my forbidden fruit, and drew in 
images of terror, which punished me for my imagined 
sins. Nay, I felt even the sting of the snakes of the pit, 
which stung and writhed about in flames, wherefrom 
they, revivified like the phoenix, ascended again to spit 
out their poison. 

The other scholars who slept in the same room with 
me were often awoke in the night by my cries, and told 
of my strange disconnected talk about hell and the 
damned. The old custodian had seen one morning, to 
his terror, that I had raised myself up in bed, with my 
eyes open, yet fast asleep, called upon Lucifer, and 
wrestled with him, until quite exhausted I had sunk 
back on the pillow. 

It was now the universally received opinion that I 
had combats with the Evil One ; my bed was sprinkled 
with holy water, I was enjoined to repeat a certain 
number of prayers before I laid myself in bed. Nothing 
could operate more injuriously on my health than 
exactly this mode of treatment ; my blood was put only 


The Improvisatore. 


81 


into a greater state of ferment thereby, and I myself 
into a more anxious condition, for I knew the cause of 
all this, and saw how I betrayed it. At length I 
reached the point of transition, and came out of the 
storm into a sort of calm. 

Among all the scholars no one stood higher, either 
by abilities or birth, than Bernardo, the life-rejoicing, 
almost dissolute Bernardo. It was his daily jest to ride 
upon the protecting spout high above the fourth story, 
and to balance himself upon a board between the two 
corner windows under the roof. All the uproars in our 
little school kingdom were attributed to him, and that 
mostly with justice. It was wished that the stillness 
and repose of the convent might be diffused over us and 
the whole building, but Bernardo was the disturbing 
Kobold, yet he never showed himself to be malicious. 
It was only with regard to Habbas Dahdah that he 
played a little with the black coloring, and then these 
two were always on bad terms. But this did not annoy 
Bernardo. He was the nephew of a senator of Rome, 
was possessed of great wealth, and had brilliant pros- 
pects in life, “for Fortune,” said Habbas Dahdah, 
“ threw her petals into the hollow trees and passed over 
the slender pines.” 

Bernardo had his determined opinion in everything ; 
and when, among his school companions, he could not 
make his words effective, his hands came to his service, 
in order to inoculate his sap-green ideas upon the back 
of the refractory ; he was always, therefore, the dom- 
inant spirit. Although we were of natures extremely 
dissimilar, there still existed between us the best under- 
standing. I was, to be sure, always the one who 
yielded, but even this gave him occasion to deride me. 

“ Antonio !” said he, “ I would cudgel you if I only 
knew that, by so doing, I could excite a little gall in 


82 


The Improvisatore. 


you. If you would only for once show some character 
—strike me in the face with your clenched fist when I 
ljpigh at you, then I could be your faithful friend ; but 
now I must give up every hope of you !” 

One morning, when we were alone together in the 
great hall, he seated himself upon the table before me, 
looked into my face, laughing, and said — 

“You are, however, a greater villain than I ! You 
play, indeed, an excellent comedy ! For this, folks 
have their bed sprinkled, and their persons fumed. If 
you do not guess why, I do. You read Dante’s ‘ Com- 
edia !’ ” 

I grew crimson, and inquired how he could accuse me 
of such a thing. 

“ Have you not to-night described the devil to me in 
sleep, just out of the i Divina Comedia ?’ Shall I tell 
you a story ? You are possessed of much fancy, and can 
enjoy yourself over such descriptions. In hell, there 
are not merely fire-seas and infected moors, as you 
know very well from Dante, but also great pools all 
frozen over ; ice, and ice, where the souls are eternally 
frozen fast ; when one has passed these, one descends to 
the very deepest depth, where they are who have 
betrayed their benefactors ; consequently there is 
Lucifer, the rebel against God, — our greatest benefactor. 
He stands sunk up to the breast in ice, with outstretched 
jaws, in which he holds fast Brutus, Cassius, and Judas 
Iscariot, and this last has his head downwards, whilst 
the grim Lucifer shakes his monstrous bat’s wings. 
See, my son, when one has once seen the fellow, one 
does not very soon forget him. I made acquaintance 
with him in Dante’s hell ; and you have described him 
to a hair this night, in your sleep. Therefore, I say to 
you, how is it you have been reading Dante ? but then 
you were honester than now. Y ou bade me be silent, and 


The Improvisator e. 


83 


mentioned by name our amiable Habbas Dahdah. 
Confess it only, now you are awake ! I will not betray 
you. That is at last something in you that I can like. 
Yes, yes, I had always a sort of hope of you. But how 
have you got hold of the book ? From me you might 
have had it ; I possessed myself of it immediately, for, 
when Habbas Dahdah spoke ill of it, I conceived the 
idea that it was worth the trouble of reading. The 
thick volume regularly terrified me ; but that I might 
laugh at him, I took it in hand, and now I am reading 
it for the third time. Is not hell brilliant ? Where do 
you think that Habbas Dahdah will go ? He may do 
with either hot or cold !” 

My secret was now betrayed ; but I could depend on 
Bernardo’s silence. A more confidential connexion 
was knit between us. Our conversation, when we were 
alone, turned upon the “ Divina Comedia that occupied 
and inspired me ; and I must converse on that which 
employed my soul and my thoughts. “ Dante, and his 
immortal work,” was, therefore, the first of my poems 
which I wrote down. 

In my edition of the “ Divina Comedia,” there was a 
life of the author, a mere sketch, to be sure, but suf- 
ficient to enable me to comprehend his peculiar character. 
I sang of pure spiritual love in him and Beatrice, 
described his suffering in the struggle between the black 
and the white, the weary wanderings of the excom- 
municated over the mountains, and his death among 
strangers. I spoke with most animation of the flight of 
the enfranchised soul — its glance backwards upon earth, 
and down to the deep. The whole thing was borrowed, 
in small features, from his immortal poem. Purgatory, 
as he himself had sung it, opened itself again ; the 
miracle-tree shone with glorious fruit upon its bended 
branches, which were sprinkled by an eternally rushing 


8 4 


The Improvisatore . 


waterfall. He sat in the boat where the angel spread 
out his large white wings as sails, whilst the mountains 
around trembled as the purified soul ascended to 
paradise, where the sun and all the angels, like mirrors, 
reflected the beams of the Eternal God ; where all was 
bliss, and where the lowest as well as the highest, 
participated equally of happiness, according to the 
degree in which every heart could comprehend it. 

Bernardo heard my poem, and considered it quite a 
masterpiece. “Antonio,” said he, “you must repeat 
that at the festival. It will vex Habbas Dahdah ! It 
is splendid ! Yes, yes, this, and none other shall you 
repeat !” 

I made a movement of dissent. 

“ How !” exclaimed he, “ you will not ? Then I will ! 
I will torment him with the immortal Dante. Glorious 
Antonio, give me your poem. I will repeat it. But 
then it must really be given to me ! Will you not be 
unwilling to give up your beautiful plumage to deck 
out the jackdaw ? You are really an incomparably good- 
natured fellow ; and this will be a beautiful act in you ! 
You will consent ?” 

How willingly would I oblige him ; how willingly 
even would I see the fun ! There did not need much 
persuasion. 

It was at this time the custom in the Jesuit school, as 
now in the Propaganda in the Spanish square, that on 
the 13th of January, “ in onore dei sancti re magi’’ that the 
greater part of the scholars made speeches in public, 
either a poem in one of the various languages which 
were taught here, or in that of his • home or native 
country. We ourselves could make choice of the sub- 
ject, which was only submitted to the censorship of our 
teacher, after which we were permitted to work it out. 

“ And you, Bernardo,” asked Habbas Dahdah, on the 


The Improvisatore . 


85 


day on which we announced our themes — “you, Ber- 
nardo, have not chosen anything? You do not belong 
to the race of singing-birds — we may certainly pass by 
you !” 

“ Oh, no,” was the reply, “ I shall venture this time. 
I have thought of singing of a poet — certainly not one 
of the greatest — I have not courage for that ; but I have 
thought on one of the least — on Dante !” 

“ Ay, ay,” returned Habbas Dahdah ; “ he will come 
out — and come out with Dante ! that will be a master- 
piece ! — that will I gladly hear. But as all the cardinals 
will come, and strangers from all parts of the world, 
would it not be best to defer this piece of merriment 
till carnival-time ?” And with these words he went on ; 
but Bernardo was not to be put off in this way, and 
obtained permission from the other teachers. 

Every one now had his theme ; mine was the beauty 
of Italy. 

Each scholar was expected wholly to work out his 
subject himself ; but a sure way of winning over Hab- 
bas Dahdah, and diffusing a sort of sunshine over his 
bad-weather countenance, was to give him a poem to 
read through, and to ask from him assistance and 
advice ; in that case, he commonly worked the whole 
poem over again, botched and mended it, so that it 
remained as bad as at first, only in a different way ; and, 
if it so happened that a stranger praised the poem, he 
would let fall the remark, that there were a few sparkles 
of his own wit which had polished away the rough, &c., 
&c. 

My poem on Dante, which was now Bernardo’s, he 
never saw. 

At length the day came. The carriages rolled up to 
the gate ; the old cardinals, in their red cloaks with long 
trains, came in, and took their places in the stately arm- 


86 


The Improvisator e. 


chairs. Tickets, on which our names were inscribed, in 
the languages in which we were to write our poems, 
were handed about. H abbas Dahdah made the opening 
oration, and now followed poems in Syriac, Chaldaic, 
Coptic, nay, even in Sanscrit, English, and other strange 
tongues — nay, the more outlandish and odd the 
languages sounded, the greater were the applause and 
bravos, and clapping of hands, mingled with the hearti- 
est laughter. 

With a beating heart I came forward, and spoke a few 
strophes of my “ Italy.” Repeated acclamations saluted 
me ; the old cardinals clapped their hands in token of 
applause, and H abbas Dahdah smiled as kindly as it 
was possible for him to do, and moved prophetically the 
garland between his hands ; for, in Italian, Bernardo 
only followed me, and it was not to be imagined that 
the English poem which succeeded him would win any 
laurels. 

Now stepped Bernardo before the chair. My eye and 
ear followed him with uneasiness. Boldly and proudly 
he recited my poem on Dante ; a deep silence reigned in 
the hall. The wonderful force which he gave it seemed 
to seize upon every one. I knew every word of it ; but 
is sounded to me like the song of the poet when it is 
raised on the wings of music — the most unanimous 
applause was awarded to him. The cardinals arose — 
all was at an end ; the garland was given to Bernardo, 
for although, for order’s sake, the succeeding poem 
was listened to, and received also its applause, people 
immediately afterwards turned again to the beauty and 
the spirit of the poem on Dante. 

My cheeks burned like fire, my breast heaved, I felt 
an infinite, unspeakable happiness, my whole soul drank 
in the incense which was offered to Bernardo. I looked 
at him, he was become quite other than I had ever seen 


The Improvisa tore . 


87 


him before. Pale as death, with his eyes riveted on the 
ground, he stood there like a criminal — he, who other- 
wise had looked so unabashedly into every one’s face. 
Habbas Dahdah seemed just like a companion piece to 
him, and appeared ready to pluck the garland to pieces 
in his abstraction, when one of the cardinals took it 
from him and placed it on the head of Bernardo, who 
bent his knee, and bowed his face into both his hands. 

After the festival I sought out Bernardo. “ To-mor- 
row !” he exclaimed, and tore himself loose from me. 

On the following day, I observed that he shunned 
me ; and it grieved me, for my heart was infinitely 
attached to him — it needed one trusty soul in the world, 
and it had selected him. 

Two evenings passed, he. then threw himself on my 
neck, pressed my hand, and said, “Antonio, I must 
speak with you ; I cannot bear it any longer, and will 
not, either. When they pressed the garland on my 
head, it was as if they had pressed in a thousand thorns. 
The acclamations sounded like jeering ! It was to you 
that the honor belonged ! I saw the joy in your eye, 
and, do you know, I hated you ! you were to me no 
longer that which you had been. That is a wicked feel- 
ing, I pray you for forgiveness ; but we must now part, 
I am no longer at home here. I will hence, and not for 
the next year be the jest of the others when they find 
that I have not the stolen plumes. My uncle shall and 
must provide for me. I have told him so — I have 
besought it from him — I have done that which is repug- 
nant to my nature ; and it seems to me as if you were 
the cause of it all ! I feel a bitterness towards you 
which wounds me to the soul ! We can only be friends 
under entirely new circumstances ! — and we will be so, 
promise me, Antonio ?” 

“You are unjust to me,” said I, “unjust to yourself ! 


88 


The Improvisatore. 


Do not let us think any more about that miserable 
poem, or anything connected with it. Give me your 
hand, Bernardo, and do not distress me with such talk.” 

“We will always be friends,” said he, and left me. It 
was late in the evening before he came to his chamber ; 
and the next morning it was announced that he had 
left the school to follow another profession. 

“ He is gone like a falling star,” observed Habbas 
Dahdah, ironically ; “ he vanished as soon as one noticed 
the brightness ! The whole was a crack — and so was 
the poem, too. I shall manage, indeed, that the treas- 
ure is preserved ! Then, Holy Virgin ! when one looks 
closely at it, what is it ? Is it poetry — that which runs 
in and out, without shape or consistency ? At first, I 
thought it was a vase, then .a French wine-glass, or a 
Median sabre ; but, when I turned it and drew it, there 
came out the self-same, unmeaning, cut-and-dried shape. 
In three places there is a foot too many ; there are 
horrible hiatuses ; and five-and-twenty times has he 
used the word 1 divina,’ as if a poem became divine by 
the repetition of this word. Feeling, and feeling ! that 
is not all which makes the poet ! What a combating 
with fancies — now one is here ! now one is there ! 
Neither is it thought, no, discretion, golden discretion ! 
The poet must not let himself be run away with by his 
subject. He must be cold, ice-cold — must rend to 
pieces the child of his heart, that he may understand 
every single portion of it ; it is only thus that a work 
of art can be put together. Not with all this driving and 
chasing, and all this wild inspiration ! And then they 
set a garland on such a lad ! Flogged he should have 
been for his historical errors, his hiatuses, his miserable 
work ! I have vexed myself, and that does not suit my 
constitution ! The abominable Bernardo !” 

Such probably was Habbas Dahdah’s speech of praise. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

A WELCOME AND AN UNWELCOME MEETING THE LITTLE 

ABBESS THE OLD JEW. 

We all missed the wild, wilful Bernardo, and none 
missed him more than I did. It seemed to me as if all 
was empty and deserted around me ; I could not enjoy 
my books ; there were dissonances in my soul which I 
could not even silence ; music alone brought a momen- 
tary harmony. In the tones of the world, my life and 
my whole endeavors first received clearness. Here I 
found more than any poet, than even Dante had 
expressed ; not merely the feelings comprehended from 
the soul-breathing picture, but the sensitive part, the 
ear, drank in from living existence. Every evening, 
before the image of the Madonna on the wall, children's 
voices sang to me remembrances from my own child- 
hood, which sounded like a cradle-song from the melan- 
choly bagpipe of the Pifferari. I heard, indeed, in them 
the monotonous song of the muffled corpse-bearers who 
carried the coffin of my mother. I began to think about 
the past, and of that which was to come. My heart 
seemed so strangely to want room ; I felt as if I must 
sing ; old melodies intoned within me, and the words 
came aloud from my lips ; yes, too much aloud, for they 
disturbed Habbas Dadhah, at several rooms distance, 
who sent to inform me that this was neither an opera- 


9 ° 


The Improvisatore. 


house nor a singing-school, and that there could be no 
quavering in the school of the Jesuits, excepting such as 
was in honor of the Virgin. Silently I laid my head 
against the window-frame and looted into the street, 
but with my thoughts introverted. 

“ Felicissima notte, Antonio !”* reached my ear. A 
handsome, proud horse was prancing under the win- 
dow, and then sprang forward with his rider. It was a 
papal officer ; with joyful rapidity he bowed himself to 
his horse, waved his hand again and again till he was 
out of sight ; but I had recognized him — it was Bernardo, 
the fortunate Bernardo ! How different had his life 
been to mine ! No ! I could not think of it ! I drew 
my hat deeply over my brows, and, as if pursued by an 
evil spirit, hastened out, and forth wherever the wind 
would carry me. I thought not then how it was a 
regulation that no scholar in the Jesuits’ school, 
Propaganda, or any other establishment of learning in 
the Papal States, should go out of the building without 
being accompanied by a fellow-student of equal or 
superior age, and might never show themselves alone 
without an especial permission. Such a universally 
known law as this was never inculcated upon us. I for- 
got that my freedom in this way was circumscribed, and 
from this cause went out quite calmly. The old cus- 
todian thought perhaps that I had obtained permission. 

The Corso was crowded with equipages. A succes- 
sion of carriages, filled with the natives of Rome and 
strangers, followed each other ; they were taking their 
evening drive. People stood in throngs around the 
print-sellers’ windows looking at the engravings, and 


* The inhabitants of the north wish each other “ good night, 
sleep well !” The Italians wish “ the happiest night !” The 
nights of the south have more than dreams . — Author s Note. 


The Improvisatore. 


9i 


beggars came tip to them craving for a bajocco. It 
was difficult to make one’s way through, unless one 
would venture among the carriages. I had just slipped 
through in this manner, when a hand took fast hold of 
my dress, and I heard a well-known horrible voice 
whisper, “ Bon giomo, Antonio !” I looked down ; 
there sat my uncle, the horrible Peppo, with the two 
withered legs fastened up to his sides, and with the 
wooden frame on which he shoved himself onwards. 
We had never been for many years so near to each 
other. I had always made great circuits to escape him 
— had avoided the Spanish Steps, where he sat ; and 
when I had been obliged to pass by him in a proces- 
sion, or with the other scholars, I had always used my 
utmost endeavors to conceal my face. 

“ Antonio, my own blood !” said he, holding fast by 
my coat, “ dost thou not know thy own mother’s 
brother, Peppo ? Think upon St. Joseph,* and then 
thou hast my name ! Oh, how manly and tall thou 
hast grown !” 

“ Release me !” exclaimed I, for the people around 
us looked on. 

“ Antonio !” said he, “ hast thou forgotten how we 
two rode together upon the little ass? Thou sweet 
child ! Yes, now thou sittest upon a loftier horse, thou 
wilt not know thy poor uncle — wilt not come to me 
upon the steps. Yet thou hast kissed my hand, slept 
upon my poor straw. Don’t be ungrateful, Antonio !” 

“ Then let me go !” I cried, and tore the coat out of 
his hands, and, slipping between the intersecting car- 
riages, came into a side street. My heart trembled for 
horror of — yes, what shall I call it ? — wounded pride. I 


* Peppo is the Italian abbreviation of the name Guiseppe,— - 
Joseph. — -Author's JVoie. 


9 2 


The Improvisatore . 


fancied myself to be scorned by everybody who had 
seen us ; but this feeling prevailed only for a moment, 
and then gave place to another and a much more bitter 
one. Every word which he had said was indeed the 
truth ; I was really the only child of his sister. I felt 
that my behavior had been cruel, and was ashamed 
before God and myself ; it burned like fire in my heart. 
Had I now been alone with Peppo, I would have kissed 
his "Ugly hands, and prayed him for forgiveness. I 
was shaken to my inmost soul. 

At that moment, the bells of the church of St. Agos- 
tino rang for the Ava Maria. My sin lay heavy upon 
my soul, and I went in, that I might pray to the Mother 
of God. All was empty and dark in the lofty building ; 
the lights upon the various altars burned feebly and 
dreamily, with beams like tinder in the night when the 
damp sirocco blows. My soul drank in consolation and 
pardon. 

“ Signore Antonio,” said a voice close to me, “ Excel - 
lenza is come and the handsome signora. They are 
here from Firenza, and have brought with them their 
little angel. Will not you come directly and pay your 
visit, and give your welcome ?” 

It was old Fenella, the wife of the porter at the 
Palazzo Borghese. My benefactress was here with her 
husband and child. I had not seen her for some years. 
My soul was full of joy ; I hastened there, and soon the 
old friendly faces greeted me again. 

Fabiani was gentle and gracious, Francesca glad as a 
mother to see me again. She brought to me her little 
daughter, Flaminia, a kind-hearted child with wonder- 
fully bright eyes. She put forth her mouth immediately 
for me to kiss, came willingly to me, and we were, in 
two minutes, old acquaintances and friends. She sat 
upon my arm, and laughed aloud for joy when I danced 


The Improvisatore. 


93 


round the hall with her, and sang her one of my merry 
old songs. 

“ Make not my little abbess * a child of the world,” 
said Fabiani, smiling ; “ dost thou not see that she bears 
already the token of her honor ?” He then showed to 
me a little silver crucifix, which hung by a cord upon 
the child’s breast. “ The holy father gave her this ; she 
bears already her soul-bridegroom upon her heart.” 

In the plenitude of their love, the young couple had 
vowed to the Church their first female child, and the 
Pope had bestowed upon the little one in the cradle this 
holy sign. As a relation of the rich Borghese family, 
the highest place in the female convents of Rome was 
open to her ; and, therefore, with them and with all her 
connexions she bore the honorable name of the Little 
Abbess. Every story, therefore, that was told her, and 
every sport, was calculated to fix her ideas on the world 
to which she peculiarly belonged, on the happiness 
which awaited her. 

She showed me her Jesus-child, her little white-gar- 
mented nuns, which went every day to mass, set them 
up in two rows at the table, as the nurse had taught 
her, and told me how beautifully they sang and prayed 
to the Jesus-child. I drew for her merry peasants, who, 
in their long woollen cloaks, danced around the stone 
Tritons, and pulchinellos that sat upon one another’s 
shoulders ; and the new pictures unspeakably amused 
the little one. She kissed them many times, then tore 
them in her wantonness, and I must draw new ones, till 
the time came when we must part, by the nurse coming 
to take her to bed, for her bed-time was long past. 


* It is the custom in most of the Italian families, that when one 
of the daughters is destined to the convent from childhood, she 
bears one or other name of honor, indicative of her destination, as 
“Jesus’ Bride/’ “ the Nun/’ “ the Abbess/’ &c. — Author's Note: 


94 


The Improvisator e. 


Fabiani and Francesca asked me about the Jesuit 
school, about my health, and whether I were contented, 
and promised to be always kind to me, and wished me 
the best fortune. 

“ We must see you every day,” said they ; “ come very 
often whilst we are here.” 

They inquired also about old Domenica on the Cam- 
pagna, and I told how happy she was whenever, though 
it was but seldom, in spring and autumn, I went to see 
her ; how she roasted chestnuts for me, and seemed to 
become young again in talking of the days which we 
had spent together ; and how I must every time see the 
little nook where I had slept, and the pictures which I 
had drawn, and which she preserved with her rosary 
and her old prayer-book. 

“ How queerly he bows !” said Francesca to Fabiani, 
as, in the evening, I bowed in taking leave. “ It is very 
excellent to cultivate the mind, but neither must the 
body be neglected ; so much is thought of that in the 
world ! But that will come, will it not, Antonio ?” said 
she, smiling, and extended her hand for me to kiss. 

It was yet early in the evening when I again found 
myself in the street on my homeward way, but still it 
was pitch-dark. There were at that time no lamps in 
Rome ; they belong, as is well known, to the last [few 
years. The lamps before the images of the Virgin 
were the only lights in the narrow, ill-paved streets. I 
was obliged to feel my way before me, that I might 
not stumble against anything ; and thus I went on 
slowly, occupied with the thoughts of the adventures of 
this afternoon. 

In going forward, I struck my hand against some 
object. 

“ The devil !” resounded from a well-known voice ; 


The Improvised ore. 


95 


“ don’t knock out my eyes, for then I should see still 
less !” 

“ Bernardo !” I joyfully exclaimed ; “ have we met 
once more?” 

“ Antonio ! my dear Antonio !” exclaimed he, and 
caught me by the arm ; “ this is indeed a merry meet- 
ing. Where do you come from? From some little 
adventure ? That I did not expect from you ; but you 
are caught in the path of darkness. But where is the 
slave corporal, or cicisbeo, or whatever you call your 
faithful companion ?” 

“ I am quite alone,” said I. 

“ Alone !” repeated he ; “ you are at bottom a fine 
fellow ; you should be in the papal guard ; then, per- 
haps, we should make something out of you.” 

I related to him in a few words the arrival of Excel- 
lenza and Signora, and expressed my delight at this 
our meeting. His pleasure was not less than mine. 
We thought not of the darkness around us, and talked 
as we went along, without thinking where or in what 
direction we went. 

“ Do you see, Antonio,” said he, " I have only just 
now learned what life is : you know nothing about it. 
It is too gay a thing to sit there on the hard school- 
bench and listen to Habbas Dahdah’s mouldy har- 
angues. I know how to manage my horse — you saw 
me, perhaps, to-day ; and the handsome signoras cast 
glances at me — oh, such burning ones ! I am, to be 
sure, a very good-looking fellow, whom the uniform 
becomes ; in this cursed darkness here you cannot see 
me I My new comrades have led me out into the 
world , they are not such recluses as you. We empty 
our glasses to the well-being of the state, and have also 
little adventures of which his holiness would not endure 
to hear. What a foolish fellow you are, Antonio ! I 


9 6 


The Improvisator e. 


have had ten years’ experience in these few months. 
Now I feel my youth, it boils in my blood, it wells forth 
in my heart, and I enjoy it — enjoy it in copious draughts, 
whilst my lips burn, and this exciting thirst is unal- 
layed.” 

“Your companions are not good, Bernardo,” said I. 

“ Not good !” interrupted he ; “ don’t preach me any 
sermon ! What can you say about my goings on ! My 
companions are of the purest patrician blood that Rome 
possesses ; we are the holy father’s guard of honor ; his 
blessing absolves our little sins. After I had left 
school, I too had some of these conventual notions about 
me, but I was wise enough not to let my new compan- 
ions observe it ; I did as they did ; my flesh and blood, 
my whole proper I, thrilled with joy and life, and I fol- 
lowed this impulse because it was the strongest ; but I 
perceived at the same time a hateful, bad voice within 
me — it was the Propagandist convent breeding, and the 
last remains of good childism, which said, ‘ Thou art no 
longer innocent as a child !’ Since then I laugh at 
it, I understand it better. I am a man ! the child is 
shook off : it was that which cried when it could not 
have its way. But here we are really at the Chiavica, 
the best inn, where artists assemble. Come in; we 
must empty a bottle of wine together, for our happy 
meeting’s sake — come in ; it is merry within !” 

“What are you thinking of?” replied I. “If they 
should know at the Jesuit school that I have been here 
with an officer of the papal guard !” 

“ Yes, that would be a great misfortune ! To drink a 
glass of wine, and to hear the foreign artists sing their 
songs in their native speech, German, French, English, 
and the Lord knows what tongues ! It’s a merry thing, 
you may think !” 

“ What may be suitable for you is forbidden to me ; 


The Improvisatore. 


9 7 


do not talk to me about it, and — ” I interrupted 
myself, because I heard laughter and shouting from a 
little side street, and was desirous of turning the con- 
versation to other subjects : “ there is such a crowd of 
people together — what can it be?. I think the sport 
goes on under the image of Madonna and, so saying, 
I drew him towards it. 

Rude men and boys of the lowest class had closed up 
the street ■, they made a large circle around an old Jew, 
whom, as we found, they would compel to jump over a 
stick, which one of the fellows held, because he wished 
to go out of the street. 

It is well known that in Rome, the first city of Chris- 
tendom, the Jews are only permitted to live in their 
allotted quarter, the narrow and dirty Ghetto, the gate of 
which is closed every evening, and soldiers keep watch 
that none may come in or out. Once a year, the oldest 
amongst them are obliged to go to the Capitol, and, 
kneeling, pray for permission to live yet one year longer 
in Rome ; which they obtain by binding themselves to 
bear the expenses of the carnival, and promising that all 
of them, once in the year, on an appointed day, shall go 
to a Catholic church and hear a sermon for their con- 
version. 

The old man whom we here saw had come alone on 
this dark evening through the street where the boys 
were pursuing their sport, and the men were playing at 
mora. 

“Do you see the Jew?” one of them had said, and 
began to scoff at and ridicule the old man ; and then, as 
he pursued his way in silence, they closed up the street. 
One of the fellows, a thick, broad-shouldered man, held 
a long stick stretched out, and cried, “ Nay, Jew, take 
thy legs with thee, however ; they will shut the Ghetto, 


9 8 


The Improvisator e. 


thou wilt not get in to-night. Let us see how nimble 
thou art in the legs !” 

“Leap, Jew!” cried all the boys ; “Abraham’s God 
will help thee !” 

“ What harm have I done you ?” said he. “ Let me, an 
old man, go on my own way, and make not a jest of my 
grey hair before her to whom you yourselves pray for 
pardon and he pointed to the image of the Madonna 
just by. 

“Dost thou think,” said the fellow, “that Madonna 
troubles herself about a Jew ? Wilt thou jump, thou old 
hound ?” and he now clenched his fist in his face, and 
the boys pressed in a closer circle around him. 

With this Bernardo sprang forth, pushed the nearest 
aside, snatched in an instant the stick out of the fellow’s 
hand, swung round his sword above him, held the stick 
which he had taken from him before him, and cried in 
a strong, manly voice, “Jump thou, or I will cleave 
thy head ! — delay not ! — by all the saints, I’ll split thy 
skull if thou do not jump over it !” 

The fellow stood as if all heaven had fallen amid the 
astonished crowd. The thundering words, the drawn 
sabre, the papal officer uniform, all electrified him, and, 
without replying one word, he gave a great spring over 
the stick, which he had just held before the poor Jew. 
The whole assembly appeared equally surprised ; no 
one ventured to say a word, but looked astonished by 
that which had happened. 

Scarcely had the fellow leapt over, than Bernardo 
seized him by the shoulder, and, striking him lightly on 
the cheek with the flat of his sabre, said : 

“ Bravo, my hound ! well done ! Yet once more this 
trick, and then, I think, thou wilt have had enough of 
this dog’s play !” 

The fellow was obliged to leap, and the people, who 


The Improvisatore. 


99 


went over to the merry side of the thing, cried “ Bravo !” 
and clapped their hands. 

“Where art thon, Jew?” asked Bernado. “Come, I 
will lead thee!” But nobody replied; the Jew was 
gone. 

“ Come,” said I, when we were out of the crowd — 
“ come, let them say what they may. I will drink a 
bottle of wine with you. I will drink your health. 
May we always be friends in whatever circumstances 
we may be !” 

“You are a fool, Antonio !” replied he, “and I also at 
bottom, to have vexed myself about the rude fellow. I 
think that he will not speedily be making anybody 
jump again.” 

We went into the hotel ; none of the lively guests 
observed us. There stood in a corner a little table, and 
here we bade them bring us a bottle of wine, and drank 
to our happy meeting, and to the endurance of our 
friendship ; then we parted. 

I returned to the Jesuit school, where the old custodian, 
my particular friend, let me in unobserved of any one, 
and I was quickly asleep and dreaming of this evening’s 
many adventures. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE JEW MAIDEN. 

That I had been out for an evening without per- 
mission, nay, drunk wine also in an inn with Bernardo, 
troubled me afterwards ; but Fortune favored me — 
nobody missed me, or, if they did, they supposed, like 
the old custodian, that I had received permission, for I 


IOO 


The Improvisator e. 


was indeed considered to be the quietest and the most 
conscientious of the scholars. The days glided on 
smoothly for weeks ; I studied industriously, and visited 
in the meantime my noble benefactress ; these visits 
were my highest recreation. The little abbess became 
dearer to me every day ; I took to her the pictures 
which I myself when a child had drawn, but when she 
had played some minutes with them they flew in 
many pieces about the floor ; these I collected, and 
joined again for her. 

At that time I was reading Virgil. The sixth book, 
where the Cumsean sibyl conducts ASneas down to the 
lower regions, interested me greatly, for it bore a 
relationship to that of Dante. With this I thought of 
my poem, and that brought Bernardo vividly to my 
mind, whom I had not seen for so long a time. I longed 
for him. This was precisely on one of those days in the 
week on which the gallery of the Vatican stood open to 
the public. I obtained leave of absence to go and see 
the glorious marble gods and the beautiful pictures ; but 
that which I particularly wished for was to meet with 
my dear Bernardo. 

I was already in the great open colonnade where the 
most beautiful bust of Raphael stands, and where the 
whole ceiling is covered with exquisite pictures from 
the Bible, drawn by this great master and finished by 
his scholars. The strange arabesques on the walls, the 
legions of angels, which are either kneeling in every 
arch or spreading forth their great wings towards the 
Infinite, were not new to me ; yet I lingered here a 
long time as if contemplating them, but waiting in 
reality for any lucky chance which might bring Ber- 
nardo there. I leaned over the balustrade of masonry, 
and contemplated the magnificent range of mountains, 
the proud line of the waves beyond the Campagna, but 


The Improvisatoye . 


IOI 


my eye at the same time looked down into the court of 
the Vatican to see if it were not Bernardo whenever I 
heard a sword ring upon the broad flagstones : but he 
came not. 

In vain I wandered through the arcades, visited the 
Nile-group and the Laocoon — all my looking was only 
folly, and I grew out of humor. Bernardo was not to 
be discovered, and, therefore, my homeward way 
seemed to me about as interesting as the Torso and the 
splendid Antinous. 

Now skipped a light figure in helmet and with ringing 
spurs along the passage, and I after it ; it was Bernardo. 
His joy was not less than mine ; he drew me hastily 
along with him, for he had, he said, a thousand things 
to tell me. 

“You do not know what I have suffered and still suf- 
fer ! You shall be my doctor — you alone can help me 
to the magical plants.” 

With these words he led me through the great hall 
where the papal Swiss kept guard, into a large room 
fitted up for the accommodation of the officer on duty. 

“ But you are not ill ?” I inquired ; “ you cannot be 
so ! your eyes and your cheeks burn with the glow of 
life.” 

“ Oh, yes, they burn,” said he — “ I burn from head to 
foot ; but it is all right ! You are my star of luck — you 
bring with you charming adventures and good ideas. 
You must help ! sit down. You do not know how much 
I have lived through since that evening which we two 
spent together. But I will confide all to you — you are 
an honest friend, and must have a share in the 
adventure.” 

He would not allow me to speak — I must hear that 
which excited him so much. 

“ Do you remember the Jew — the old Jew whom the 


102 


The Improvisatore . 


fellow would force to leap over the stick, and who 
hurried away without thanking me for my knightly 
help ? I soon had forgotten him and the whole history. 
A few days afterwards chance led me past the entrance 
into the Ghetto ; I did not observe it until the soldier 
who had his post at the gate presented arms, because I 
now belong to the people of rank. I returned his greet- 
ing, and saw with that a handsome crowd of black-eyed 
girls of the Hebrew race just within the gate, and so, as 
you may imagine, I was possessed with the desire to go 
down through the narrow, dirty street. It was a whole 
synagogue within ; houses jostling one against another 
high into the air — from every window was heard 
‘ Bereschit Bara Elohim !’ head to head, just as if they 
were going to pass over the Red Sea. Round about 
hung old clothes, umbrellas, and such like Rag-Fair 
goods. I skipped among iron-wares, pictures, and dirt, 
of course, and heard what a buzzing and screaming 
there was whether I would not trade, sell, or buy ; they 
would hardly let me have time to notice a pair of black- 
eyed, beautiful children, which laughed at me from the 
door. It was such a wandering, you may trust me, as 
Dante might have described. All at once an old Jew 
fell upon me, bowed himself down before me as if I had 
been the holy father. 

“ ‘ Excellenza,’ said he, ‘ my noble deliverer — the 
saviour of my life, blessed be the hour in which I saw 
you ! Think not that old Hanoch is ungrateful !’ and 
much more which I did not understand and cannot now 
remember. I now recognized him ; it was the old 
Hebrew who should have taken the leap. 

“ ‘ Here is my poor house,’ continued he, ‘ but the 
threshold is too humble for me to pray you to cross it 
and with this he kissed my hands and my dress. I 
wished to get away, for the whole neighborhood was 


The Improvisatore. 


103 


gazing upon us ; but just then I cast my eyes upwards 
to the house, and I saw the most beautiful head that I 
ever had seen — a marble Venus with warm blood in her 
cheeks, and eyes like the daughters of Arabia. Thus 
you can very well conceive that I followed the old Jew 
in — he had, indeed, invited me. The passage was truly 
as narrow and dark as if it had led into the grave of the 
Scipios, and the stone steps and the handsome wooden 
gallery — yes, they were, in particular, formed to teach 
people stability in walking, and circumspection to the 
extremest finger-point. In the room itself it did not 
seem so much amiss, only the girl was not there ; and 
what did I want to see besides ? I had now to sit and 
listen to a long speech of gratitude, in which the multi- 
tude of eastern figures of speech would certainly have 
charmed your poetical turn of mind. I let it go on, 
thinking to myself ‘ she will come at last P but she came 
not. In the meantime the Jew started an idea which, 
under other circumstances, would have been very good. 
He imagined that I, as a young man who was living in 
the world, should want money, but yet, at the same 
time, have no superabundance of it — that I had need 
occasionally to fly to compassionate souls, who, at from 
twenty to thirty per cent., showed their Christian love, 
but that he (and it is a miracle in the Jewish kingdom) 
would lend to me without any percentage at all. Do 
you hear ? with no percentage ! I was a noble young 
man — he would trust himself to my honesty ! I had 
protected a twig of the stem of Israel, and not a splinter 
of this should rend my clothing ! 

“ As I was not in need of any money, I did not take any ; 
so he tnen besought me to condescend to taste his wine 
— the only bottle which he possessed. I know not what 
reply I made, but this I know, that the loveliest girl of 
oriental descent entered. There were form and color — 


io4 


The Improvisator e. 


hair shining and jet-black as ebony. She presented to me 
excellent wine of Cyprus, and that kingly blood of the line 
of Solomon crimsoned her cheeks as I emptied a glass to 
her happiness. You should have heard her speak — 
heard her thank me for her father, which, indeed, it was 
not worth the trouble. It sounded like music in my 
ears — it was no earthly being ! She then vanished 
again, and only the old man remained.” 

“ The whole is just like a poem !” I exclaimed ; “ it 
could be beautifully put into verse.” 

“You do not know,” continued he, “how I have since 
tormented myself — how I have formed schemes in my 
head, and then pulled them down again, for meeting 
again with my daughter of Zion. Only think, I went 
down there to borrow money which I did not want ; I 
borrowed twenty silver scudi for eight days, but I did 
not get to see her. I took them unchanged back again 
to him on the third day, and the old man smiled and 
rubbed his hands, for he had not actually so entirely 
relied upon my boasted honesty. I praised his wine of 
Cyprus, but she brought me none ; he himself presented 
it with his thin, trembling hands. My eyes peered into 
every corner — she was nowhere. I saw her not, only as 
I went down the steps it seemed to me that a curtain in 
an open window moved ; it might be she. 

“ ‘ Adieu, signora,’ I exclaimed, but all was still as a 
wall — nothing showed itself. I have advanced no further 
in my adventure — give me counsel. To give her up I 
cannot and will not ! What shall I do ? Strike out a 
brilliant idea, my heart’s youth ! Be to me a Juno and 
Venus, which led Aeneas and Libya’s daughter together 
into the lonely grotto.” 

“ What will you have me to do ? I do not compre- 
hend how I can do anything here.” 

“You can do everything, whatever you will. The 


The Improvisatore. 


!05 


Hebrew is really a beautiful language, a poetical 
picture-world ; you shall study it, and take a Jew for 
your teacher ; I will pay for the lessons. Do you have 
the old Hanoch, for I have discovered that he belongs 
to the learned portion in Ghetto. When your true- 
hearted manner has won him, then you can make the 
acquaintance of his daughter, and then you must bring 
me in also, but at full galop — at full, flying gallop. I 
have burning poison in my blood — the burning poison 
of love. You must go to-day to the Jew.” 

“ That I cannot,” I replied ; u you do not take into con • 
sideration my circumstances — what a part I should 
have to play ; and how can you, dear Bernardo, demean 
yourself so as to have a love affair with a Jew girl ?” 

“ Oh, that you do not understand !” interrupted he ; 
“ Jew girl or not has nothing to do with it, if she is only 
good for anything ! Now, thou beloved youth, my own 
excellent Antonio, set about studying Hebrew — we 
will both of us study it, only in different ways. Be 
reasonable, and think how very mnch you hereby pro- 
mote my happiness.” 

“ You know,” I said, “ how sincerely, with my whole 
soul, I am attached to you — you know how your pre- 
ponderating force seizes upon my thoughts and my 
whole will. If you were angry, you could destroy me ! 
— I should be forced into your magic circle. I judge 
not your views in life by my own ; every one must 
follow his own nature. Neither do I consider the mode 
by which you would seize on pleasure to be sinful, for 
that is according to your cast of mind. I am quite 
different ; do not over-persuade me into an undertaking 
which, even if it turned out favorably, could not tend 
to your happiness.” 

“ Good — good !” said he, interrupting me ; and I saw 
the distant, proud glance with which he so often had 


io6 


The Improvisatore . 


regarded H abbas Dahdah, when he, from his position, 
was the deciding party ; “ good, Antonio, it is nothing 
but a jest, the whole of it. You shall not have to do 
penance on my account. But where would have been 
the harm of your learning a little Hebrew, and that 
from my Jew, I cannot comprehend. But not a word 
about it ! — thanks for your visit ! Will you eat ? — will 
you drink ? Here they are at your service.” 

I was dumb ; the tone in which he spoke, his whole 
manner showed that he was offended. Icy coldness 
and formal politeness met the warm pressure of my 
hand. Troubled and out of spirits, I hastened home. 

I felt that he was unjust — that I had acted as was my 
duty to do ; and yet there were moments in which it 
seemed as if I had acted unkindly to him. In one of 
these combats with myself I went through the Jews’ 
quarter, hoping that my fortunate star would conduct 
me to some adventure which should turn out to the 
benefit of my dear Bernardo. But I did not once see 
the old Jew ; unknown faces looked out from doors and 
windows, dirty children lay upon the steps among all 
sorts of old trash of iron and clothes, and the eternal 
shouting of whether I would not buy or sell almost 
deafened me. Some young girls were playing at shut- 
tlecock, from window to window, across the street. 
One of these was very handsome ; could it be Bernardo’s 
beloved ? I involuntarily took off my hat, but the next 
moment, ashamed of doing so, I' stroked my head with 
my hand, as if it had been on account of the warmth, 
and not of the girls, that I uncovered my head. 



CHAPTER X. 

A YEAR LATER THE ROMAN CARNIVAL — THE SINGER. 

If I must uninterruptedly follow the thread which 
connects together Bernardo’s love and my ramble 
through Ghetto, I must pass over two whole years of 
my life ; but these years had in their daily progress 
onward much more for me than the making me twice 
twelve months older. It was a sort of interlude in the 
drama of my life. 

I seldom saw Bernardo, and when we did meet he was 
just the same merry-hearted, bold young acquaintance 
as ever ; but confidential as before he never seemed to 
be, the cold, well-bjed air betrayed itself from under 
the mask of friendship ; it troubled and depressed me, 
and I had not the courage to ask how it had gone with 
his love affair. 

I very often went to the Borghese Palace, and found 
with Excellenza, Fabiani and Francesca, a true home, 
yet often, also, found occasion for deep pain. My soul 
was filled with gratitude to every one of them for all 
which I had received from them, and, therefore, any 
grave look from them cast a shade upon my life’s hap- 
piness. Francesca commended my good qualities, but 
wished now to perfect me. • My carriage, my mode of 
expressing, myself, she criticised, and that with severity 
— certainly with great severity — so much so as to bring 


io8 


The Improvisatore, 


tears to my eyes, although I was a tall youth of eigh- 
teen. The old Excellenza, who had taken me from 
Domenico’s hut to his magnificent home, was also just 
as cordially kind to me as at the first time when we 
met ; but he, too, pursued the signora’s mode of educa- 
tion with me. I did not take the same interest as 
himself in plants and strange flowers, and this he con- 
sidered as a want of taste for that which was solid ; 
he thought that I was too much occupied by my own 
peculiar individuality — I did not come sufficiently out 
of myself — did not let the radius of the mind intersect 
the great circle of the world. 

“ Reflect, my son,” said he, “ that the leaf which is 
rolled up in itself withers.” 

But after every warm conversation that he had with 
me he patted me again upon the cheek, and consoled 
me by ironically saying that we lived in a bad world, 
and we must every one of us be pressed like dried 
flowers, if the Madonna were to have handsome speci- 
mens of us. Fabiani looked at everything on the cheer- 
ful side, laughed at both of their well-meant lectures, 
whilst he assured them that I never should become 
learned like Excellenza, nor piquant like Francesca, 
but that I should be of a third character, which also 
belonged to life, and which was not to be despised 
either. And then he called for his little abbess, and 
with her I soon forgot all my small troubles. 

The family intended to pass the following year in the 
north of Italy ; the warm summer months they would 
spend at Genoa, and the winter in Milan. By me also, 
at the same time, a great step was to be taken. I was 
to enter by a sort of examination into the rank of abbe, 
and thus gain a higher position in life than I had 
hitherto possessed. 

Before the departure of the family a great ball was 


The Improvisatore . 


109 


given in the Borghese Palace, to which I also was 
invited. Pitch garlands burned before the house, and 
all the torches which were borne before the carriages 
of the guests were stuck into iron arms upon the wall, 
so that this seemed like a complete cascade of fire. 
Papal soldiers were stationed at the gates. The little 
garden was decorated with bright-colored paper-lamps ; 
the marble steps were magnificently lighted, and upon 
every step, beside the wall, stood vases filled with 
flowers or small orange-trees, which diffused their 
fragrance around. Soldiers leaned their shoulders 
against the doors. There was a throng of richly 
dressed servants. 

Francesca was splendidly beautiful ; the costly bird- 
of -paradise head-dress which she wore, and her white 
satin dress with its rich lace, became her most exquis- 
itely, but that she extended to me her hand — yes, that 
I thought the most beautiful of all ! In two halls, in 
each of which was a full orchestra, floated the dancers. 

Among them was Bernardo, and he was handsome ; 
the scarlet, gold-embroidered uniform, the narrow white 
breeches, all fitted as if but a part of the noble figure ; 
he danced with the most lovely women, and they 
smiled confidingly and tenderly upon him. That which 
vexed me was that I could not dance ; neither did any 
lady take any notice of me. In my own home it seemed 
to me that I was the greatest stranger among strangers. 
But Bernardo offered me his hand, and all my ill- 
humor was again gone. 

Behind the long red curtains, by the open window, 
we drank together the foaming champagne ; he clinked 
his glass familiarly against mine. Beautiful melodies 
streamed through the ear into our hearts, and every 
thought of a friendship less warm than in former days 
was extinguished. I ventured to mention even the 


I IO 


The Improvisatore . 


handsome Jewish maiden ; he laughed, and seemed 
quite cured of his deep wound. 

“ I have found another little golden bird,” said he, 
“which is tamer, and has sung away my whim. We 
will therefore let the other fly ; and it is gone indeed, 
has escaped away out of the Jew’s quarter — nay, even 
out of Rome, if I am to believe my people !” 

Once more we joined glasses ; the champagne and 
the enlivening music infused two-fold life into our 
blood. Bernardo again was in the midst of the dance ; 
I stood alone there, but that great sea of happiness was 
in my soul which makes one right glad to embrace the 
whole world. Down in the street below shouted the 
poor lads, as they saw the sparks fly from the pitch gar- 
lands ; I thought upon my own poor childhood, when I 
also had played like them, and now stood, as if at home, 
in the splendid ball-room, among the first families of 
Rome. Thanks and love to the Mother of God, who 
had led me so tenderly forwards in the world, filled my 
whole soul ; I bent my knees in adoration, and the long 
thick curtains hid me from the eyes of all. I was 
infinitely happy ! 

The night was over ; yet two days more, and the 
whole family left Rome. H abbas Dahdah impressed 
upon me every hour what this year was to bring me — 
the name and the dignity of an abbe. I studied indus- 
triously, scarcely ever saw Bernardo, or any other 
acquaintance. Weeks extended themselves into months, 
and these brought on the days in which, after close 
examination, I was to assume the black dress and short 
silk cloak. 

All within me sung victoria. The lofty pines, and 
newly sprung-up anemones, the crier in the streets, and 
the light cloud which floated through the blue air ! 

With the short silk cloak of the abbe, I had become a 


The Improvisator e . 


1 1 1 


new and happier person. Francesca had sent me a hill 
of a hundred scudi, for my necessities and my pleasure. 
In my delight I hastened up the Spanish Steps, threw a 
silver scudi to uncle Peppo, and hastened away, without 
hearing more from him than his “ Excellenza, Excel- 
lenza Antonio !” 

It was in the first days of February, the almond-tree 
blossomed, the orange-trees became more and more 
yellow, the merry carnival was at hand, as if it were a 
festival to celebrate my adoption into the rank of abbe ; 
heralds on horseback, with trumpets and splendid vel- 
vet banners, had already announced its approach. 
Never before had I yet wholly enjoyed its delights, 
never given myself wholly up to that spirit of the time, 
“ the madder the merrier !” 

When I was a little child,' my mother, feared that I 
should get hurt in the crowd, and I obtained only 
momentary glimpses of the whole merriment, as she 
stood with me in some safe corner of the street. As a 
scholar in the J esuits’ school, I had seen it in the same 
manner, when permission was given to me, with some 
of the other scholars, to stand upon the flat roof of the 
side-buildings of the Doria Palace ; but now to be able 
by myself to wander about from one end of the street 
to the other, to mount the Capitol, to go to Trastevere, 
— in short, to go and to be just wherever I myself 
wished, was a thing hardly to have been thought of. 
How natural was it then that I should throw myself 
into the wild stream, and delight myself with every- 
thing just like a child ! Least of all did I think that 
the most serious adventure of my life was now to begin ; 
that an occurrence, which had once occupied me so 
vividly and so entirely ; the lost seed-corn, forgotten and 
out of sight, should now show itself again like a green, 


I 12 


The Improvisatore . 


fragrant plant, which had wound itself firmly around 
my own life’s tree. 

The carnival was all my thought. I went early in 
the morning to the Piazzo del Popolo that I might see 
the preparations for the races, walked in the evening 
up and down the Corso, to notice the gay carnival- 
dresses which were hung out, figures with masks and 
in full costume. I hired the dress of an advocate, as 
being one of the merriest characters, and scarcely slept 
through the whole night that I might think over and 
regularly study my part. 

The next day seemed to me like a holy festival ; I 
was as happy as a child ! All round about in the side- 
streets the comfit-sellers set up their booths and tables, 
and displayed their gay wares* The Corso was swept, 
and gay carpets were hung out from all the windows. 
About three o’clock, according to the French mode of 
reckoning time, I went to the Capitol, to enjoy, for 
the first time, the beginning of the festival. The 
balconies were filled with foreigners of rank ; the sena- 
tor sat in purple upon a throne of velvet ; pretty little 
pages, with feathers in their velvet caps, stood on the 
left, before the purple Swiss guard. Then came in a 
crowd of the most aged Jews, who kneeled down bare- 
headed before the senator. I knew one of them, it was 
Hanock, the old Jew, whose daughter had so greatly 
interested Bernardo. 

The old man was the speaker, made a sort of oration, 
in which he prayed, according to old usage, for permis- 
sion for himself and his people to live yet a year longer 


* These comfits are small red and white plaster of Paris balls, 
as large as peas ; sometimes also they are grains of corn rolled 
in a paste of plaster of Paris. During the carnival, people throw 
them in each other’s faces. — Author's Note . 


The Improvisator e. 113 


ia Rome, in the quarter which was appointed to them ; 
piomised to go once during that time into the Catholic 
church, and prayed furthermore that, according to old 
custom, they might themselves run through the Corso 
before the people of Rome, might pay all the expense 
of the horse-racing, together with the offered prize- 
money, and might provide the gay velvet banners. 
The senator gave a gracious nod (the old custom of set- 
ting the foot upon the shoulder of the supplicant was 
done away with), rose up amid a flourish of music in 
procession, and, descending the steps, entered his mag- 
nificent carriage, in which the pages also had a place : 
and thus was the carnival opened. The great bell of 
the Capitol rang for gladness, and I sped home quickly 
that I might instantly assume my advocate’s dress. In 
this it seemed to me that I was quite another person. 

With a kind of self-satisfaction I hastened down into 
the street, where a throng of masks already saluted me. 
They were poor working people, who on these days 
acted like the richest nobility ; their whole finery was 
the most original, and at the same the cheapest in the 
world. They wore over their ordinary dress a coarse 
shirt stuck all over with lemon-peel, which was to rep- 
resent great buttons ; a bunch of green salad on their 
shoulders and shoes ; a wig of fennel ; and great spec- 
tacles cut out of orange-peel. 

I threatened them all with actions at law, showed 
them in my book of laws the regulations which forbade 
such luxuriousness in dress as theirs, and then, 
applauded by them all, hastened away to the long 
Corso, which was changed from a street into a masquer- 
ade hall. From all the windows, and round all the bal- 
conies and boxes erected for the occasion, were hung 
bright-colored carpets. All the way hlong, by the 
house-sides, stood an infinite number of chairs, “ excel- 


The Improvisatore . 


114 


lent places to see from,” as those declared who had 
them t to let. Carriages followed carriages, for the great- 
est part filled with masks, in two long rows — the one up, 
the other down. Some of these had even their wheels 
covered with laurel-twigs, the whole seeming like a 
moving pleasure-house ; and amid these thronged the 
merry human crowd. All windows were filled with 
spectators. Handsome Roman women, in the dress of 
officers, with the moustachio over the delicate mouth, 
threw comfits down to their acquaintance. I made a 
speech to them, summoning them before the tribunal, 
because they threw not only comfits into the faces, but 
fire-glances also into the heart ; they cast down flowers 
upon me, as a reward for my speech. 

I met with a decked-out little old woman, attended 
by her cisisbeo ; the way was blocked up to us for a 
few moments by a contest among a crowd of Pulchinel- 
los, and the good lady was obliged to listen to my 
eloquence. 

“ Signora,” said I, “ do you call that keeping your 
vow ? Is this maintaining the Roman Catholic customs 
as you ought to do ? Ah, where now is Lucretia, the 
wife of Tarquinius Colatinus? For this do you and 
many other women of Rome send out their repectable 
husbands in the carnival time, and let them go in exer- 
citia with the monks of Trastevere. You promise to 
lead a quiet, God-fearing life in your house, and your 
husbands mortify their flesh in the time of merriment, 
and pray and labor night and day within the walls of 
the convent. Thus you get free play, and flirt about 
with your gallants on the Corso and about Festino ! 
Ay, signora, I summon you before the tribunal, accord- 
ing to the sixteenth clause of the twenty-seventh law.” 

An emphatic blow with her fan on my face was my 


The Improvisatore . » 115 

A. I 

answer, the real cause of which was, we may suppose, 
that I had, quite innocently, hit upon the truth. 

“ Are you mad, Antonio ?” whispered her conductor 
to me, and both made their escape among- sbirri, Greeks, 
and shepherdesses. By those few words I had recog- 
nized him : it was Bernardo. But who could the lady 
be ? 

“ Luogi, Luogi! Patroni /” cried those who had chairs 
to let. I was bewildered in my thoughts ; but yet who 
will think on a carnival’s day ? A crowd of harelquins, 
with little bells on their shoulders and shoes, danced 
around me, and a new advocate upon stilts, the height 
of a man, strode in above us. As if he recognized a 
collegian in me, he joked about the humble position in 
which I stood, and assured them that it was only he 
alone who could win any cause, for upon the earth, to 
which I was stuck fast, there was no justice — it was to 
be found only above ; and then he pointed into the 
higher, pure air in which he stood, and stalked on 
further. 

On the Piazza Colonna was a band of music. The 
merry doctors and shepherdesses danced joyously 
around, even in the midst of the single troop of soldiers, 
which, to preserve order, mechanically walked up and 
down the street among the carriages and the throng of 
human beings. Here I again began a profound speech, 
but there came up a writer, and then it was all over 
with me, for his attendant, who ran before him with a 
great bell, jingled it so before my ears that I could not 
even hear my own words ; at that moment also was 
heard the cannon-shot, which was the signal that all 
carriages must leave the streets, and that the carnival 
was at an end for this day. 

I obtained a stand upon a wooden scaffolding. Below 
me moved the crowd, without allowing itself to be dis- 


The Improvisator^ .) 


1 1 6 


turbed by the soldiers, who warned them to make way 
for the horses, that would soon pass at a wild speed 
through the street, where no causeway made a deter- 
mined path. 

At the end of the street, by the Piazzo del Popolo, the 
horses were led up to the barrier. They all seemed 
half wild. Burning sponges were fastened to their 
backs, little rockets behind their ears, and iron points 
hanging loose, which in the race spurred them till the 
blood came, were secured to their sides. The grooms 
could scarcely hold them. The cannon was fired. The 
rope before the barrier fell, and now they flew like a 
storm-wind past me up the Corso. The tinsel glittered ; 
their manes and the gaudy ribands floated in the air ; 
sparks of fire flew from their hoofs. The whole mass 
of people cried after them, and, at the same moment in 
which they had passed, streamed out again into the 
open mid-path, like the waves, which close again after 
the ship’s keel. 

The festival was at an end for the day. I hastened 
home to take off my dress, and found in my room Ber- 
nardo, who was waiting for me. 

“ You here !” I exclaimed ; “ and your donna, where 
in all the world, have you left her ?” 

“ Hush !” said he, and threatened me jestingly with 
his finger ; “ do not let that come to an affair of honor 
between us ! Yet how could you get the whimsical idea 
of just saying what you did say? — but we will give 
absolution and show mercy. You must go with me this 
evening to the Theatre Aliberto ; the opera of ‘ Dido ’ 
is given there to-night. There will be divine music ; 
many beauties of the first rank will be there ; and, 
besides, there is a foreign singer, who takes the princi- 
pal character, and who has set the whole of Naples in 
fire and flame. She has a voice, an expression, a car- 


The Improvisatore . 


i 1 7 

riage, such as we have no idea of ; and then she is 
beautiful, very beautiful, they say. You must take a 
pencil with you, for, if she answer only half the descrip- 
tion I have heard of her, she will inspire you to write 
her the most beautiful sonnet ! I have kept the last 
bouquet of violets from the carnival to offer her, in case 
she should enchant me !” 

I was willing to accompany him — I wished to drink 
up every drop of the merry carnival. It was an impor- 
tant evening for us both. In my Diario Romano, also, 
this 3rd of February stands doubly underlined. Ber- 
nardo had reasons that it should be so in his. 

It was in the theatre Aliberto, the first opera-house in 
Rome, that we were to see the new singer as Dido. 
The magnificent ceiling, with the hovering Muses ; the 
curtain, on which is portrayed the whole of Olympus, 
and the golden arabesques in the boxes, were then all 
new. The entire house, from the floor to the fifth row, 
was filled ; in every box burned lights in the lamps, the 
whole blazed like a sea of light. Bernardo directed my 
eyes to every new beauty who entered her box, and 
said a thousand wicked things about the plain ones. 

The overture began. It was the exposition-scene of 
the piece in music. The wild tempest raged on the sea 
and drove ^Eneas on the coast of Libya. The horror 
of the storm died away in pious hymns, which ascended 
in triumph, and in the soft tones of the flute a dream- 
like feeling stole over me of Dido’s awakening love, — a 
feeling which I myself had not known till then. The 
hunting-horns sounded, the storm arose again, and I 
entered with the lovers into the secret grotto, where 
all intoned of love, the strong, tumultuous passion, 
which burst into a deep dissonance ; and with this the 
curtain rose. 

^Eneas is about to go to conquer the Hesperian king- 


1 1 8 


The Improvisator e. 


dom for Ascanius, to leave Dido, who received him the 
stranger, who sacrificed for him her honor and her 
happiness. But as yet she knows it not, “ but quickly 
will the dream vanish,” said he, “ soon, when the hosts 
of Teucer, like the black swarms of ants laden with 
booty, advance to the shore. 

Now came forth Dido. As soon as she showed her- 
self upon the boards, a deep silence spread itself over 
the house ; her whole appearance — her queenly and yet 
easy, charming carriage, seized upon all — me also ; and 
yet she was not such a one as I had imagined Dido to 
be. She stood there, a delicate, graceful creature, infin- 
itely beautiful and intellectual, as only Raphael can 
represent woman. Black as ebony lay her hair upon 
the exquisite, arched forehead ; the dark eye was full 
of expression. A loud outbreak of applause was heard ; 
it was to Beauty, and Beauty alone, that the homage 
was given, for as yet she had sung not a note. I saw 
plainly a crimson pass over her brow ; she bowed to the 
admiring crowd, who now followed with deep silence 
her beautiful accentuation of the recitative. 

“ Antonio,” said Bernardo, half aloud to me, and 
seized my arm, “ it is she ! I must have lost my senses, 
for it is she — my flown bird ! Yes, yes, I cannot be 
wrong ; the voice also is hers ; I remember it only too 
well !” 

“ Who do you mean ?” I inquired. 

“ The Jewish maiden from Ghetto,” replied he ; “ and 
yet it seems impossible, she cannot really be the 
same !” 

He was silent, and lost himself in the contemplation 
of the wonderfully lovely, sylph-like being. She sang 
the happiness of her love ; it was a heart which breathed 
forth, in melody, the deep, pure emotion which, upon 
the wings of melodious sounds, escapes from the human 


The Improvisatore. 


11 9 


breast. A strange sadness seized upon my soul ; it was 
as if those tones would call up in me the deepest earthly 
remembrances ; I also was about to exclaim, with 
Bernardo, “ It is she !” Yes she whom I for these many 
years had not thought or dreamed of, stood now with 
wonderful vividness before me — she with whom I, as 
a child, had preached at Christmas, in the church era 
cceli ; that singularly delicate little girl, with the remark- 
ably sweet voice, who had won the prize from me. I 
thought of her, and the more I saw and heard this 
evening the more firmly was it impressed on my mind, 
“ it is she — she, and no other !” 

When, afterwards, iEneas announces to her that he 
will go — that they are not married — that he knows not 
of their nuptial torch, how astoundingly did she express 
all that which passed in her soul — astonishment, pain, 
rage ; and, when she sang her great aria, it was as if the 
waves of the deep had struck against the clouds. How, 
indeed, shall I describe the world of melody which she 
revealed ? My thoughts sought for an outward image 
for these tones, which seemed not to ascend from a 
human breast, and I saw a swan breathing out its life 
in song, whilst it now cut, with outspread pinions, the 
wide ethereal space, now descended into the deep sea, 
and clave the billows only again to ascend. A universal 
burst of acclamation resounded through the house. 
“ Annunciata ! Annunciata !” cried they ; and she was 
obliged again, and yet again, to present herself to the 
enraptured crowd. 

And yet this aria was not at all equal to the duet in 
the second act in which she prays ./Eneas not immedi- 
ately to go, not thus to forsake her — her who for his 
sake had disgraced the race of Libya, the princes of 
Africa, her virginity and duty. “ I sent no ships against 
Troy ; I disturbed not the manes of Anchises and his 


120 


The Improvisatore. 


ashes !” There was a truth, a pain in the whole of her 
expression, which filled my eyes with tears ; and the 
deep silence which reigned around showed that every 
heart felt the same. 

iEneas left her, and now she stood for a moment 
cold and pale as marble, like a Niobe. But quickly 
boiled the blood in her veins ; it was no longer Dido — 
the warm, the loving Dido — the forsaken wife — it was a 
Fury. The beautiful features breathed forth poison 
and death. Annunciata knew so completely how to 
change her whole expression, to call up the icy shudder 
of horror, that one was compelled to breathe and to 
suffer with her. 

Leonardo du Vinci has painted a Medusa’s head, 
which is in the gallery at Florence. Every one who 
sees it is strangely captivated by it, and cannot tear 
themselves away. It is as if the deep, out of froth and 
poison, had formed the most beautiful shape — as if the 
foam of the abyss had fashioned a Medicean Venus. 
The look, the expression of the mouth even, breathe 
forth death. Thus stood Dido now before us. 

We saw the funereal pile which her sister Anna had 
erected ; the court was hung with black garlands and 
night-shade ; in the far distance sped the bark of 
iEneas over the agitated sea. Dido stood with the 
weapons which he had forgotten ; her song sounded 
deep and heavy, and then again ascended into power 
and strength, like the lamentation of the fallen angels. 
The funereal pile was lighted ; her heart broke in 
melody. 

Like a tempest burst forth the applause ; the curtain 
fell. We were all out of ourselves with admiration of 
the glorious actress, her beauty, and her indescribably 
exquisite voice. 

“ Annunciata ! Annunciata !” rang from the pit and 


The Improvisator e . 


I 2 I 


all the boxes ; the curtain rose, and she stood there, 
bashful and charming, with eyes full of love and gentle- 
ness. Flowers rained down around her ; ladies waved 
their white pocket-handkerchiefs, and the gentlemen, 
enraptured, repeated her name. The curtain fell, but 
the acclamation seemed only the more to increase ; she 
again made her appearance, and with her the singer 
who had performed the part of ^Eneas ; but again and 
again they shouted, “ Annunciata !” She appeared 
with the whole corps who had contributed to her 
triumph ; but yet once more they stormed forth her 
name ; and for the fourth time she now came forth, quite 
alone, and thanked them, in a few cordial words, for the 
rich encouragement which they had given to her efforts. 
I had written a few lines in my excitement on a piece 
of paper, and these, amid flowers and garlands, flew to 
her feet. 

The curtain did not rise again ; but still again and 
again resounded her name ; people could not weary of 
seeing her, could not weary of paying her homage. 
Yet once more was she obliged to come from the side 
of the curtain, pass along before the lamps, and send 
kisses and thanks to the exultant crowd. Delight 
beamed from her eyes ; there was an indescribable joy 
in her whole look ; it was certainly the happiest 
moment in her whole life. And was it not also the 
happiest of mine ? I shared in her delight as well as in 
the acclamation of the others ; my eye, my whole soul 
imbibed her sweet image ; I saw only, thought only, 
Annunciata. 

The crowd left the theatre ; I was carried away with 
the stream which bore onward to the corner where the 
carriage of the singer stood ; I was pushed to the wall, 
for all wished yet once more to see her. All took off 
their hats and shouted her name. I spoke her name 


122 


The Improvisatore. 


also, but my heart swelled strangely the while. Ber- 
nardo had pressed forward to the carriage, and opened 
the door for her. I saw that in a moment the horses 
would be taken out, and that the enthusiastic young 
men would themselves draw her home. She spoke, and 
besought of them, with a trembling voice, not to do so ; 
but only her name in the most exultant shout sounded 
through the street. Bernardo mounted on the step, as 
the carriage was set in motion, in order to compose her, 
and I seized hold of the pole, and felt myself as happy 
as the rest. The whole thing was soon to be over, like 
a beautiful dream. 

It was happiness to me now to stand beside Bernardo ; 
he had actually talked with her — had been quite close 
to her ! 

“ Now what do you say, Antonio ?” cried he ; “ is not 
your heart in a commotion? If you do not glow 
through marrow and bone, you are not worthy to be 
called a man ! Don’t you now see how you stood in 
your own light when I wanted to take you to her ? and 
would it not have been worth while to have learned 
Hebrew, to have sat on the same bench with such a 
creature ? Yes, Antonio, however incomprehensible it 
may seem, I have not any doubt but that she is my 
Jewish maiden ! She it was whom, a year ago, I saw 
with old Hanoch ; she it was who presented to me 
Cyprus wine, and then vanished. I have her again ; 
she is here, and like a glorious phoenix ascended from 
her nest, that hateful Ghetto !” 

“ It is impossible, Bernardo,” I replied ; “ she has also 
awoke remembrances in me, which make it impossible 
that she can be a Jewess ; most assuredly is she one of 
the only blessed Church. Had you observed her as 
closely as I have done, you would have seen that hers 
is not a Jewish form ; that those features bear not the 


The Improvisatore . 


123 


Cain’s mark of that unhappy, despised nation. Her 
speech itself, her accent, come not from J ewish lips. O 
Bernardo, I feel so happy, so inspired by the world of 
melody which she has infused into my soul ! But what 
did she say ? You have actually talked with her, stood 
close by her carrriage ; was she right happy, as happy 
as she has made us all ?” 

“ You are regularly inspired, Antonio !” interrupted 
he ; “now melts the ice of the Jesuit school ! What did 
she talk about ? Yes, she was frightened, and yet she 
was proud that you wild cubs drew her through the 
streets. She held her veil tight over her face, and 
pressed herself into the corner of the carriage ; I com- 
posed her, atid said everything that my heart could 
have said to the Queen of Beauty and Innocence ; but 
she would not even take my hand when I would have 
helped her out !” 

“ But how could you be so bold ? she did not know 
you. I should never have ventured on such audacity.” 

“ Yes, you know nothing of the world — nothing of 
women. She has observed me, and that always is some- 
thing.” 

I now read him my impromptu to her ; he thought it 
was divine, and declared that it must be printed in the 
Diario di Roma. We drank together her health. Every 
one in the coffee-house talked of her ; every one, like 
us, was inexhaustible in her praise. It was late when I 
parted from Bernardo ; I hastened home, but sleep was 
not to be thought of. It was to me a delight to go over 
the whole opera in my own mind ; Annunciata’s first 
appearance ; the aria, the duet, the closing scene, which 
seized so strangely on the souls of all. In my rapture 
I spoke forth my applause aloud, and called her name. 
Then in thought I went through my little poem, wrote 
it down, and thought it pretty ; read it a few times to 


I 24 


The Improvisatore . 


myself ; and, if I must be candid, my love to her was 
almost increased by the poem. Now, many years after- 
wards, I see it with very different eyes. I then thought 
it a little masterpiece. She certainly took it up, I 
thought, and now she sits half undressed upon the soft 
silken sofa, supports her cheek upon her beautiful arm, 
and reads that which I breathed upon paper : — 

My soul went with thee, trembling and unshriven, 

On that proud track where only Dante stays ; 

In music, through the depths and up to heaven, 

Thy song has led me and thy seraph-gaze ! 

What Dante’s power from stony words hath wrung, 

Deep in my soul hast thou in music sung ! 

I knew no spiritual world more rich and beautiful 
than that in Dante’s poem, but this now, it seemed to 
me, revealed itself in a higher vitality, and with much 
greater clearness than before. Her melting song, her 
look, the pain and the despair which she had represented, 
had most completely been given in the spirit of Dante. 
She must think my poem beautiful ! I imagined her 
thought, her desire to know the author, and I almost 
fancy that, before I went to sleep, I was, with all my 
imaginings about her, still most occupied with myself 
and my own little insignificant poem. 



CHAPTER XI. 

BERNARDO AS DEUS EX MACHINA LA PRUOVA D’UN OPERA 

SERIA MY FIRST IMPROVISATION THE LAST DAYS of 

THE CARNIVAL. 

The next forenoon I saw nothing of Bernardo ; in 
vain I sought for him. Many were the times that I 
went across the Piazza Colonna, not to contemplate the 
pillar of Antoninus, but to see, if it were only the sleeve 
of Annunciata, for she lived there. There were visitors 
with her, the lucky people ! I heard a piano ; I 
listened, but no Annunciata sung : a deep bass voice 
gave forth some tones ; certainly it was the master of 
the musical chapel, or one of the singers in her company 
— what an enviable lot ! Were one only in the place of 
him who acted ^Eneas with her ! thus to look into her 
eyes, drink in- her looks of love, travel with her from 
city to city, gaining admiration and renown ! I was 
quite lost in the thought. Harlequins with shells, 
Pulchinellos and magicians danced around. I had quite 
forgotten that it was carnival time, and that it even now 
was the hour when the sports began for to-day. 

The whole gaudy crowd, the noise and the screams, 
made an unpleasant impression upon me. Carriages 
drove past ; almost all the drivers were dressed as 
ladies, but it looked to me horrible ; those black whiskers 
under women’s caps ; the vigorous movements, all were 


126 


The Improvisa tore. 


painted to me in frightful colors, nay, were detestable, 
as it seemed to me. I did not feel myself, like as 
yesterday, given up to mirth, I was about to depart, 
and now, for the last time, cast a glance at the house in 
which Annunciata lived, when Bernardo rushed from 
the door towards me, and laughing, exclaimed — 

“ Come along, man, and don’t stand staring there ! I 
will introduce you to Annunciata ; she expects you 
already. Look you, is not this a piece of friendship in 
me ?” 

“ She !” I stammered, the blood seeming to boil in my 
ears, “ she ! don’t make any sport of me ! Where will 
you take me ?” 

“ To her, of whom you have sung,” he replied — “ to 
her, about whom you and I and everybody are raving 
— to the divine Annunciata !” 

And so saying, he drew me into the door with him. 

“ But explain to me how you got here yourself — how 
you can introduce me here.” 

“ Presently, presently, you shall know all that,” 
replied he ; “ now call up a cheerful face.” 

“ But my dress,” I stammered, and tried hastily to 
arrange it. 

“ Oh, you are handsome, my friend ! perfectly charm- 
ing ! See now, then, we are at the door.” 

It opened, and I stood before Annunciata. She wore a 
black silk dress of the richest material, which fell in 
ample folds around her, whilst its simple, unadorned 
style showed the exquisite bust and the sweep of the 
delicate shoulders to the greatest advantage ; the black 
hair was put back from the noble, lofty forehead, upon 
which was placed a black ornament, which seemed to 
me to be an antique stone. At some distance from her, 
and towards the window, sat an old woman in a dark 
brown, somewhat worn dress, whose eyes, and the 


The Improvisatore. 


127 


whole form of whose countenance, said, at the first 
glance, that she was a J ewess. I thought upon Bernardo’s 
assertion that Annunciata and the beauty of Ghetto 
were the same person ; but this was impossible, said I 
again in my heart, when I looked at Annunciata. A 
gentleman also whom I did not know was in the room ; 
he rose, and she rose also, and came towards me half 
smiling, as Bernardo led me in, and said, jestingly — 

“ My gracious signora, I have here the honor to pre- 
sent the poet, my friend, the excellent Abbe Antonio, a 
favorite of the Borghese family.” 

“ Signora will forgive,” said she, “ but it is in truth no 
fault of mine that my acquaintance is thrust upon you, 
however desirable yours may be to me. You have 
honored me with a poem,” she continued, and crim- 
soned ; “ your friend mentioned you as the author, 
begged to introduce you to me, when suddenly he saw 
you in the street, and said, * Now you shall see him 
instantly,’ and was gone before I could reply or prevent 
— that is his way ; but you know your friend better than 
I do.” 

Bernardo knew how to make a joke of it, and I stam- 
mered out a few words about my good fortune, my joy 
at being introduced to her. 

My cheeks glowed ; she extended her hands to me, 
and in my rapture I pressed them to my lips. She 
introduced the stranger gentleman to me ; it was the 
chapel-master or company’s leader of the band. The 
old la'dy, whom she called her foster-mother, looked 
gravely, almost sternly at Bernardo and me, but I soon 
forgot that in Annunciata’s friendship and gay humor. 

The chapel-master expressed himself as obliged by 
my poem, and, offering me his hand, invited me to write 
opera-text for him, and to begin at once. 

“ Do not listen to him,” interrupted Annunciata ; 


128 


The Improvisa tore. 


“ you do not know into what misery he will plunge you. 
Composers think nothing of their victims, and the pub- 
lic still less. You will this evening, in La Pruova Pun 
Opera Secia , see a good picture of a poor author ; and 
yet this is not painted sufficiently strong.” 

The composer wished to make some exception : 
Annunciata smiled, and turned herself to me. 

“ You write a piece,” she said ; “ infuse your whole 
soul into its exquisite verse. Unities, characters, all 
have been well considered ; but now comes the com- 
poser ; he has an idea that must be brought in ; yours 
must be put aside ; here he will have fifes and drums, 
and you must dance after them. The prima donna says 
that she will not sing unless you bring in an aria for a 
brilliant exit- She understands the furiose maestoso , and 
whether it succeed or not the author must answer for. 
The prima tenor makes the same demands. You must 
fly from the prima to the tertia donna, to the bass and 
tenor, must bow, flatter, -endure all that our humors can 
inflict ; and that is not a little.” 

The chapel-master wished to interrupt her ; but 
Annunciata noticed it not, and continued : 

“ Then comes the director, weighing, measuring, 
throwing away ; and you must be his most humble ser- 
vant, even in folly and stupidity. The mechanist 
assures you that the strength of the theatre will not 
bear this arrangement, this decoration ; that they can- 
not have it new painted ; thus you must alter this and 
that in the piece, which is called, in the theatrical lan- 
guage, 1 to mend.’ The theatrical painter does not per- 
mit that this sea-piece should be brought out in his new 
decoration ; this, like the rest, must also be mended. 
Then the signora cannot make a roulade on the syllable 
with which one of the verses ends ; she will have 
one that ends with an a, let it come from where it 


The Improvisator e. 


129 


may. You must mend yourself, and mend your text ; 
and if so be that the whole, like a new creation, comes 
on the stage, you may have the pleasure of having it 
hissed, and the composer exclaims, ‘ Ah, it is that 
miserable text which has ruined the whole ! The pin- 
ions of my melody could not sustain the colossus ; it 
must fall/ ” 

Merrily came up the sound of music to us from below. 
The carnival maskers came buzzing over the square, and 
through the streets. A loud acclamation mingled itself 
with the clapping of hands, and called us all to the open 
window. To be now so near to Annunciata, to see my 
heart’s wish so suddenly fulfilled, made me unspeakably 
happy ; and the carnival seemed to me as merry as it did 
yesterday, when I played my part in it. 

About fifty pulchinellos had assembled under the 
window, and had chosen their king, who mounted a little 
car, hung over with gaudy flags, and garlands of laurels 
and orange-peel, which waved about as if they had been 
ribands and lace. The king ascended into the car. 
They set upon his head a crown made of gilded and 
brightly painted eggs, and gave to him, as a sceptre, a 
gigantic child’s rattle, covered with macaroons. All 
danced around him, and he nodded graciously on all 
sides ; then they harnessed themselves to his carriage, 
to drag him through the streets. At that moment his 
eye fell on Annunciata ; he recognized her, nodded 
familiarly to her, and said, as he was drawn along, 
“ Yesterday, thee ! to-day, me ! Pure Roman blood 
before the chariot !” 

I saw Annunciata become crimson and step back ; but 
in a moment, recovering herself, she bent forward over 
the balcony, and said to him aloud, “ Enjoy thy good 
fortune ! Thou art unworthy of it, like me !” 

They had seen her, heard her words, and her reply. 


130 


The Improvisator e . 


A “ vival !” resounded through the air, and bouquets of 
flowers flew up around* her. One of them struck her 
shoulder, and flew into my bosom. I pressed it close ; 
it was to me a treasure which I would not have lost. 

Bernardo was indignant at what he called the pul- 
chinellos’ audacity, and wished to go down immediately 
and chastise the fellows ; but the chapel-master, as well 
as the rest, prevented him, and treated the whole as a 
jest. 

The servant announced the first tenor-singer ; he 
brought with him an abbe and a foreign artist, who 
desired to be introduced to Annunciata. The next 
moment came fresh visitors, foreign artists, who intro- 
duced themselves, and brought her their homage. We 
were altogether a large party. They spoke of the merry 
Festino the last evening, at the Theatre Argentina ; of 
the various artist masks that represented the celebrated 
statues Apollo, Musagetes, the Gladiators, and the Discus- 
throwers. The only one who took no part in the con- 
versation was the old lady whom I took for a J ewess ; 
she sat silent, busied over her stocking, and nodded very 
slightly when Annunciata several times during the con- 
versation turned to her. 

Yet how different was Annunciata from the being 
which my soul had imagined her, as I saw and heard 
her the evening before. In her person she seemed to 
be a life-enjoying, almost wilful being ; and yet this 
suited her indescribably well, and attracted me wonder- 
fully. She knew how to fascinate me and every one with 
her easy, sportive remarks, and the sensible, witty 
manner in which she expressed herself. 

Suddenly she looked at her watch, sprang up hastily, 
and excused herself, saying that her toilet awaited her ; 
that she was that evening to appear in La Pruova a'un 


The Improvisator e . 1 3 1 


Opera Scria. With a friendly nod of the head, she van- 
ished into a side-room. 

“ How happy you have made me, Bernardo !” I 
exclaimed aloud to him, when we were scarcely out of the 
house-door. “How lovely she is, lovely as in song and 
acting ! But how, in all the world, did you get admitted 
to her ? — how so suddenly make her acquaintance ? I 
cannot understand it ; it all seems to me a dream, even 
that I myself have been near to her !” 

“ How did I get admitted ?” replied he. “ Oh ! quite 
simply ! I considered it my duty as one of the young 
nobility of Rome, and as one of his holiness’s guard of 
honor, and as an admirer of all beauty, to go and pay 
my respects. Love did not require one-half of these 
reasons. It was thus that I introduced myself ; and 
that I could introduce myself equally well as those 
whom you yourself saw arrive without announcer or 
keeper, needs no doubt whatever. When I am in love, I 
am always interesting ; and thus you can very well see 
that I should be very amusing. We all had become, 
after the first half hour, so well acquainted with each 
other, that I could very well bring you in,, as soon as X 
saw you.” 

“You love her?” I inquired, “love her, right hon- 
estly ?” 

“Yes, more than ever !” exclaimed he ; “and what I 
told you, of her being the girl who gave me wine at the 
old Jew’s,, I have now no doubt about. She recognized 
me,, when I stepped before her — I saw that plainly ; 
even the, old Jew mother, who did not say a word, but 
only sat and beat time with her head, and lost her 
knitting-needle, is to me a Solomon’s seal to the truth 
of my conjecture. Yet Annunciata is not a Jewess. It 
was her dark hair — her dark eyes — the circumstances 
and the place where I saw her first, which misled me. 


i3 2 


The Improvisator e. 


Your own picture is more correct : she is of our faith, 
and shall enter into our Paradise.” 

In the evening we were to meet at the theatre. The 
crowd was great. In vain I looked for Bernardo ; he 
was not to be seen. I found one place : all around me 
was thronged ; the heat was heavy and oppressive. My 
blood was already beforehand in a strange, feverish 
agitation ; I seemed half to have dreamed the last two 
days’ adventures. No piece could be less calculated to 
give an equilibrium to my agitated mind than that 
which had now begun. 

The farce La Pruova d'un Opera Seria is, as is well 
known, the fruit of the most wanton, fantastical humor, 
scarcely any connecting thread goes through the whole. 
Poet and composer have had no other intention than to 
excite laughter, and to give the singers opportunity of 
shining. There is here a passionate, whimsical prima 
donna, and a composer who plays in the same spirit 
together with caprice on caprice of the other theatrical 
people, that strange race, which must be managed in 
their own way, probably as poison, which can both kill 
and cure. The poor poet skips about among them, like 
a lightly esteemed victim. 

Shouts and garlands of flowers greeted Annunciata. 
The humor, the liveliness which she showed, was called 
the highest art. I called it nature. It was exactly thus 
that she had been at home ; and now, when she sung, it 
was as if a thousand silver bells were ringing the 
changes of a delicious harmony, which infused that 
gladness into every heart which beamed from her eyes. 

The duet between her and il compositore della musica , in 
which they change parts, she singing that of the man, 
and he that of the lady, was a triumph to them both as 
performers, but in particular was every one captivated 
by her transitions from the deepest counter-tenor to the 


The Improvisatore . 


133 


highest soprano. In her light, graceful dancing she 
resembled Terpsichore upon the Etruscan vase ; every 
motion might have been a study for a painter or a sculp- 
tor. The whole graceful animation seemed to me a 
development of her own individuality, with which I { 
had to-day become acquainted. The personation of 
Dido was to me artistic study ; her “ prima donna ” 
this evening was a realization of the most complete 
actuality. 

Without having particular relation to the piece, there 
are great bravura-arias introduced into it from other 
operas. By the archness with which she sang these* 
all was evidently natural ; it was wilfulness and love of 
fun that excited her to these magnificent representations. 

At the close of the piece, the composer declares that 
everything was excellent, and that now the overture 
may begin ; he therefore distributes the music to the 
actual orchestra. The prima donna assists him ; the 
sign is given, and both of them join in with the most 
horrible ear and heart-rending dissonances, clapping 
their hands, and shouting, “ Bravo ! bravo !” in which 
the public join them. Laughter almost overpowers the 
music ; but I was captivated to my very soul, and felt 
myself half faint with exultation. 

Annunciata w'as a wild, wilful child, but most lovable 
in her wilfulness. Her song burst forth like the wild 
dithyrambics of the bacchantes ; even in gaiety I could 
not follow her ; her wilfulness was spiritual, beautiful 
and great, and as I looked at her, I could not but think 
on Guido Reni’s glorious ceiling-painting of Aurora, 
where the Hours dance before the chariot of the Sun. One 
of these has a wonderful resemblance to the portrait of 
Beatrice Cenci, but as one must see in the gayest time of 
her life. This expression I found again in Annunciata. 
Had I been a sculptor, I should have designed her in 


134 


The Improvisatore . 


marble, and the world would have called the statue 
innocent Joy. 

. Higher and yet higher, in wild dissonances, stormed 
the orchestra ; the composer and prima donna accom- 
panied them. “ Glorious !” they now exclaimed, “ the 
overture is at an end ; let the curtain rise ?” And so it 
falls, and the farce was ended ; but, as on the preceding 
night, Annunciata must again come forth, and garlands, 
and flowers, and poems, with fluttering ribands, flew 
towards her. 

Several young men of my age, some of whom I knew, 
had arranged that night to give her a serenade ; I was 
to be one of them. It was an age since I had sung. 

An hour after the play, when she had arrived at home, 
our little band advanced to the Piazza Colonna. The 
musicians were stationed under the balcony, where we 
still saw light behind the low curtains. My whole soul 
was in agitation. I thought only on her. My song 
mingled itself fearlessly with the others ; I sung also a 
solo-aria. I felt all that which I breathed forth. Every- 
thing in the world passed away from me. My voice 
had a power, a softness which I had never imagined 
before. My companions could not restrain from a faint 
bravo, but yet sufficient to make me attentive to my 
own song. A wondrous joy stole into my soul ; I felt 
the god which moved within me, and when Annunciata 
showed herself upon the balcony, bowed deeply, and 
thanked us, — it seemed to me that it was alone with 
reference to me. I heard my voice distinctly above 
that of the others, and it seemed like the soul of the 
great harmony. I returned home in a whirl of enthusi- 
asm, my vain mind dreamed only of Annunciata’s delight 
in my singing. I had indeed astonished myself. 

The next day I paid her a visit, and found Bernardo 
and several acquaintances with her. She was in 


The Improvisatore . 


^35 


raptures with the delicious tenor voice which she had 
heard in the serenade. I crimsoned deeply. One of 
the persons present suggested that I might be the singer ; 
on which she drew me to the piano, and desired that I 
would sing a duet with her. I stood there like one 
about to be condemned, and assured them that it was 
impossible to me. They besought me, and Bernardo 
scolded because I thus deprived them of the pleasure of 
hearing the signora. She took me by the hand, and I 
was a captive bird ; it mattered but little that I flut- 
tered my wings, I must sing. The duet was one with 
which I was acquainted. Annunciata struck up and 
raised her voice. With a tremulous tone I began my 
adagio. Her eye rested upon me as if she would say, 
“ Courage ? courage ! follow me into my world of 
melody !” and I thought and dreamed only on this and 
Annunciata. My fear vanished, and I boldly ended the 
song. A storm of applause saluted us both, and even 
the old silent woman nodded to me kindly. 

“ My good fellow,” whispered Bernardo to me, “ you 
have amazed me !” and then he told them all that I 
possessed yet another gift equally glorious — I was an 
Improvisatore also, and that I must delight them by 
giving them a proof of it. My whole soul was in excite- 
ment. Flattered on account of my singing, and tolera- 
bly secure of my own power, there needed only that 
Annunciata should express the wish, for me, for the first 
time, as a youth, to have boldness enough to improvise. 

I seized her guitar ; she gave me the word “ Immor- 
tality.” I rapidly thought over the rich subject, struck 
a few chords, and then began my poem as it was born 
in my soul. My genius led me over the sulphur blue 
Mediterranean to the wildly fertile valleys of Greece- 
Athens lay in ruins ; the wild fig tree grew above the 
broken capitals, and the spirit heaved a sigh ; then 


136 


The Improvisator e. 


onward to the days of Pericles, when a rejoicing- crowd 
was in motion under the proud arches. It was the 
festival of beauty ; women, enchanting as Lais, danced 
with garlands through the streets, and poets sang aloud 
that beauty and joy should never pass away. But now 
every noble daughter of beauty is dust, mingled with 
dust, the forms forgotten which had enchanted a happy 
generation ; and whilst my genius wept over the ruins 
of Athens, there arose before me from the earth 
glorious images, created by the hand of the sculptor, 
mighty goddesses slumbering in marble raiment ; and 
my genius recognized the daughters of Athens, beauti- 
fully exalted to divinity, which the white marble pre- 
serves for future generations. “ Immortality,” sang 
my genius, “is beauty, but not earthly power and 
strength,” and wafting itself across the sea to Italy, to 
the city of the world, it gazed silently from the remains 
of the Capitol over ancient Rome. The Tiber whirled 
along its yellow waters, and where Horatius Codes 
once combated, boats now pass along, laden with wood 
and oil, for Ostia. Where Curtius sprang from the 
forum into the flaming gulf, the cattle now lie down in 
the tall grass. Augustus and Titus ! proud names, 
which now the ruined temple and arch alone commemo- 
rate ! Rome’s eagle, the mighty bird of J upiter, is dead 
in its nest. Rome, where is thy immortality ? There 
flashed the eye of the eagle. Excommunication goes 
forth over ascending Europe. The overturned throne 
of Rome was the chair of St. Peter ; and kings came as 
barefoot pilgrims to the holy city — Rome, mistress of 
the world ! But in the flight of centuries was heard the 
toll of death— death to all that the hand can seize upon, 
that the human eye can discern ! But can the sword of 
St. Peter really rust ? The eagle flies from the east to 
the west. Can the power of the Church decline ? Can 


The Improvisatore. 


137 


the impossible happen ? Rome still stands proudly in 
her ruins with the gods of antiquity and her holy 
pictures, which rule the world by eternal art. To thy 
mount, O Rome l will the sons of Europe come as 
pilgrims forever ; from the east and from the west, 
from the cold north will they come hither, and in their 
hearts acknowledge — “ Rome, thy power is immortal.” 

The most vehement applause saluted me as I con- 
cluded this stanza. Annunciata alone moved not a 
hand, but, silent and beautiful as an image of Venus, 
she looked, into my eyes with a confiding glance, the 
silent language of a full heart, and again words flowed 
from my lips- in easy verse, the offspring of the 
moment’s inspiration. 

From the great theatre of the world, I went to a more 
confined scene, and described the fair artiste , who, with 
her acting and her singing, attracted her to all hearts. 
Annunciata cast down her eyes — for it was she of whom 
I thought — she, who could not but be recognized in the 
description which I gave. “ And,” continued I, “ when 
the last tone has died away, the curtain fallen, and even 
the roar of applause is over, then also her beautiful 
labor is dead, and, as a beautiful corpse, lies in the bosom 
of the spectators. But a poet’s heart is like the grave 
of the Madonna ; all becomes flowers and odor, the 
dead ascend from it more beautiful, and his mighty song 
intones for her — ‘Immortality !’” 

My eye rested on Annunciata ; my thoughts had 
found words ; I bowed low, and all surrounded me with 
thanks and flattering words. 

“You have given me the sincerest pleasure,” said 
Annunciata, and looked confidingly into my eyes. I 
ventured to kiss her hand. 

My poetic power had excited in her a higher interest 
for me. She discovered already that which I myself 


133 


The Improvisatore . 


perceived only afterwards, that my love for her had 
misled me in placing her art, and she who exercised it, 
within the range of immortality, which it could never 
reach. Dramatic art is like a rainbow, a heavenly 
splendor, a bridge between heaven and earth ; it is 
admired, and then vanishes with all its colors. 

I visited her daily. The few carnival-days were 
over, flown like a dream ; but I enjoyed them thor- 
oughly, for with Annunciata I drank in large draughts 
of life-enjoyment, such as I never had known before. 

“You are really beginning to be a man !” said Ber- 
nardo, “ a man like the rest of us, and yet you have only 
sipped of the cup. I dare swear now that you never 
gave a girl a kiss, never rested your head on her 
shoulder ! Suppose now that Annunciata loved you ?” 

“ What are you thinking of ?” I replied, half angry ; 
and the blood burned in my cheeks. “ Annunciata, 
that glorious woman that stands so high above me !” 

“Yes, my friend ; high or low, she is a woman, and 
you are a poet, of whose mutual relationship no one can 
form a judgment. If the poet have the first place in 
a heart, he is possessed also of the key which can lock 
the beloved in.” 

“ It is admiration for her which fills my soul ; I wor- 
ship her loveliness, her understanding, and the art of 
which she is a votary. Love her? the thought has 
never entered my mind.” 

“ How grave and solemn !” interrupted Bernardo, 
laughing. “ You are not in love ! no, that is true, 
indeed. You are one of those intellectual amphibious 
creatures that one cannot tell whether they rightly 
belong to the living or the dream-world ; you are not 
in love, not at least in the same way as I am, not in the 
same way as everybody else ; you say so yourself, and 
I will credit you ; but still, you may be so in your own 


The Improvisatore . 


139 


particular way. You should not let your blood mount 
to your cheeks when she speaks to you, should not cast 
those significant fiery glances at her. I counsel you 
thus for her sake. What do you think others must think 
of it ? But, in the meantime, she goes away the day 
after to-morrow, and who knows whether she may come 
back again after Easter, as she has promised.” 

For five long weeks Annunciata was about to leave 
us. She was engaged for the theatre at Florence, and 
the journey was fixed for the first day in Lent. 

“ Then she will have a new troop of adorers !” said 
Bernardo. “ The old ones will soon be forgotten ; yes, 
even your beautiful improvisation, for the sake of 
which she casts such loving looks at you that one is 
regularly shocked. But he is a fool who thinks only of 
one woman ! They are all ours ! the field is full of 
flowers ; one can gather everywhere.” 

In the evening we were together at the theatre ; 
it was the last time of Annunciata’s appearance 
before her journey. We saw her again as Dido, and 
in acting and singing she stood as high as at the 
first time higher she could not be, it was the perfec- 
tion of art. She was again to me the pure ideal which 
I had that evening conceived. The gay humor, the 
playful petulance, which she had shown in the farcical 
opera, and even in life, seemed to me a gaudy world- 
dress which she put on ; it became her very well ; but 
in Dido she exhibited her whole soul, her peculiar and 
spiritual identity. Rapture and applause saluted her ; 
greater it could hardly have been when the enthusiastic 
Roman people greeted Caesar and Titus. 

With the honest thanks of an agitated heart she spoke 
her farewell to us all, and promised soon to return. 
“ Bravo !” resounded from the overflowing house. 
Again and again they demanded to see her ; and, in 


140 


The Improvisatore . 


triumph, as at the first time, they drew her carriage 
through the streets ; I was among the first of them ! 
Bernardo shouted as enthusiastically as I, as we took 
hold on the carriage, in which Annunciata smiled, 
happy as a noble heart could be. 

The next day was the last of the carnival, and the 
last which Annunciata had now to spend in Rome. I 
went to pay my farewell visit. She was very much 
affected at the homage which had been paid to her tal- 
ent, and delighted herself in the thought of returning 
here after Easter, although Florence, with its beautiful 
country, and its glorious picture-gallery, was to her a 
beloved place of abode. In a few words she gave me 
so vivid a picture of the city and its neighborhood, that 
I distinctly saw the whole ; the wooded Appennines 
scattered over with villas ; the Piazza del gran Duca, 
and all the old magnificent palaces. 

“ I shall see again the glorious gallery,” said she, 
“ where my love for sculpture was first excited, and 
where I perceived first the greatness of the human soul, 
which was able, like a Prometheus, to breathe life into 
the dead ! Would that I at this moment could lead you 
into one of the rooms, the least of them all, but to me 
the dearest, the very remembrance of which makes me 
happy. In that little octagon room hang only select 
masterpieces ; but all fade before one living marble fig- 
ure, the Medicean Venus ! Never did I see such a liv- 
ing expression in stone. The marble eye, otherwise 
without the power of sight, lives here I The artist has 
so formed it that by the help of light it seems to see, to 
look into our very souls ; it is the goddess herself, born 
of the ocean-foam, that stands before us. Upon the 
wall behind the statue hang two magnificent pictures 
of Venus, by Titian ; they are, in life and coloring, the 
goddess of beauty, but only earthly beauty — rich, lux- 


The Improvisatore . 


14X 


urious beauty ; the marble goddess is heavenly ! — 
Raphael’s Fornarina, and the superhuman Madonnas, 
excite my mind and my heart ; but I always turn back 
again to the Venus ; it stands before me, not like an 
image, but full of light and life, looking into my soul 
with her marble eyes ! I know no statue, no group, 
which speaks to me thus ; no, not even the Laocoon, 
although the marble seems to sigh with pain. The 
Apollo of the Vatican, which you certainly know, alone 
seems to me a worthy companion piece. The power and 
intellectual greatness which the sculptor has given to 
the poet-god is exhibited with more feminine nobility 
in the goddess of beauty.’' 

“I know the glorious statue in plaster of Paris," 
replied I ; “ I have seen good copies in paste.” 

“ But nothing can be more imperfect," she said ; “ the 
dead plaster gives a dead impression. The marble 
gives life and soul ; in it the stone becomes flesh ; it is as 
if the blood flowed beneath the fine skin. I would that 
you were going with me to Florence, that you might 
admire and worship. I would be your guide there, 
as you shall be mine in Rome, if I come back again." 

I bowed low, and felt happy and flattered by her wish. 

“We shall see you next after Easter ?” 

“Yes, at the illumination of St. Peter’s and the giron- 
dola," replied she. “ In the meantime think kindly on 
me, as I, in the gallery at Florence, will often remem- 
ber you, and wish that you were there, and looking at 
that treasure ! That is always the way with me when- 
ever I see anything beautiful — I long for my friends, 
and wish that they were with me to participate in my 
pleasure. That is my kind of home-sickness." 

She extended to me her hand, which I kissed, and 
ventured to say, half in jest, “ Will you convey my kiss 
to the Medicean Venus ?" 


142 


The Improvisatore. 


“ Then it does not belong to me ?” said Annunciata. 
“ Well, I will honestly take care of it and with this 
she nodded to me most kindly, and thanked me for the 
happy hours which I had caused her with my singing 
and my improvisation. 

“We shall see one another again,” said she ; and, like 
a dreamer, I left the room. 

Outside the door I met the old lady, who saluted me 
more kindly than common ; and in my excited state of 
mind I kissed her hand. She slapped me gently on the 
shoulder, and I heard her say, “ He is a good creature !” 
I was now in the street, happy in the friendship of Annun- 
ciata, and enraptured with her mind and her beauty. 

I felt myself in the right humor to enjoy this last day 
of the carnival. I could not imagine to myself that 
Annunciata was about to leave Rome, our leave-taking 
had seemed so easy ; I could not but think that our 
meeting again must be on the morrow. All unmasked 
as I was, 1 took the liveliest part in the combat of com- 
fits. Every chair through the whole length of the 
streets was occupied ; every balcony and window was 
full of people ; carriages drove up and down, and the 
gay throng of human beings, like a billowy stream, 
moved among them. In order to breathe a little more 
freely, 1 was obliged to spring boldly before one of the 
carriages, the little room between them being the only 
space in which one could in any measure freely move 
one’s self. Music sounded, merry masks were singing, 
and behind one of the carriages II Capitano was trum- 
peting forth his proud deeds on land and water. 
Wanton boys, on wooden horses, whose hands and hind 
parts were only properly visible, whilst the rest was 
covered with a bright carpet, which concealed the two 
legs of the rider, which personated the four legs of the 
horse, thrust themselves into the narrow space between 


The Improvisatore . 


x 43 


the carriages, and thus increased the confusion. I could 
neither get forward nor backward from the spot ; the 
foam of the horses behind me flew about my ears. In 
this press I sprang up behind one of the carriages, in 
which sat two masks, who were, as it seemed, a fat old 
gentleman in dressing-gown and night-cap, and a pretty 
flower-girl. She had instantly seen that it was not out 
of lawlessness, but rather from fear, and therefore she 
patted me with her hand, and offered me two comfits 
for refreshment. The old gentleman, on the contrary, 
threw a whole basketful into my face, and, as the space 
behind me was now somewhat more free, the flower-girl 
did the same ; so that I, not having any weapons of the 
same kind, quite powdered over from top to toe, was 
compelled to make a hasty retreat. Two harlequins 
brushed me merrily with their maces ; but when the 
carriage again in its turn passed me, the same tempest 
began anew. I therefore determined to defend myself 
in return, with comfits ; but the cannon was fired, the 
carriages were forced into the narrow side streets, to give 
place to the horse-racing, and my two masks disap- 
peared from my sight. 

They seemed to know me. Who could they be ? I 
had not seen Bernardo in the Corso through the whole 
day. A thought occurred that the old gentleman in the 
dressing-gown and night-cap might be he, and the 
pretty shepherdess his so-called “ tame bird.” Very 
gladly would I have seen her face. I had taken my 
place on a chair close to the corner, the cannon-shot 
was soon heard, and the horses rushed through the 
Corso up towards the Venetian Square. The human 
mass immediately filled the street again behind them, 
and I was just about to dismount, when a fearful cry 
resounded, “ Cavallo !” 

One of the horses, the first which reached the goal, 


144 


The Improvisatore . 


had not been secured, and had now, in a moment, turned 
itself about, and was pursuing its way back. When one 
thinks upon the thick crowd, and the security with 
which every one went forward after the race was at an 
end, one may easily imagine the misfortune that was 
iikely to occur. The remembrance of my mother’s 
death passed through me like a flash of lightning ; it 
was as if I felt the frightful moment in which the wild 
horses went over us. My eyes stared immovably for- 
ward. The crowd fled to the sides as if by a magical 
stroke — it seemed as if - they had shrunk into themselves. 
I saw the horse snorting, and with bleeding sides and 
wildly-flying mane, pass by ; I saw the sparks which 
flew from his hoofs, and at once, as if struck with 
a shot, drop dead to the earth. Anxiously inquired 
every one from his neighbor whether some misfortune 
had not happened. But the Madonna had held a pro- 
tecting hand over her people ; nobody was hurt, and 
the danger so happily passed made the public mind still 
gayer, and much wilder than ever. 

A sign was made, which announced that all order in 
driving was now at an end, and the glorious moccolo , the 
splendid finale of the carnival, had begun. The car- 
riages now drove one amongst another ; the confusion 
and the tumult became still greater ; the darkness 
increased every minute, and every one lighted his little 
candle, some whole bundles of them. In every window 
lights were placed ; houses and carriages, in the quiet, 
glorious evening, looked as if scattered over with these 
glimmering stars. Paper-lanterns, and pyramids of 
light, swung upon tall poles across the street. Every 
one was endeavoring to protect his own light, and to 
extinguish his neighbor’s ; whilst the cry, “ Sia ammazato 
chi non porta moccolo T sounded forth with increasing wild- 
ness. 


The Improvisators . 


H5 


In vain I tried to defend mine ; it was blown out 
every moment. I threw it away, and compelled every- 
body to do the same. The ladies by the sides of the 
houses stuck their light behind them through the cellar 
windows, and cried out to me, laughing, “ Senza moccolo .” 
They fancied their own lights safe, but the children from 
within climbed up to the windows, and blew them out. 
Little paper balloons and lighted lamps came waving 
down from the upper windows, where people sat with 
hundreds of little burning lights, which they held on 
long canes over the street, crying all the time, “ Let 
every one perish who does not carry a taper !” whilst 
fresh figures, in the meantime, clambered up the spouts 
with their pocket-handkerchiefs fastened on long sticks, 
with which to put out every light, holding up theirs aloft 
the while, and exclaiming, “ Senza moccolo J” A stranger 
who has never seen it can form no idea of the deafening 
noise, the tumult, and the throng. The air is thick and 
warm with the mass of human beings and the burning 
lights. 

Suddenly, when some of the carriages had drawn off 
into one of the dark cross-streets, I saw close before me 
my two masks. The lights of the cavalier in the dress- 
ing-gown were extinguished, but the young flower-girl 
held a bouquet of burning tapers aloft on a cane four or 
five ells long. She laughed aloud for joy that nobody 
could reach it with their handkerchiefs, and the man in 
the dressing-gown overwhelmed everybody with comfits 
who ventured to approach them. I would not allow 
myself to be terrified ; in a moment I had mounted on 
the back of the carriage, and seized hold of the cane, 
although I heard a beseeching “ No,” and her companion 
assailed me with gypsum bullets, and that not sparingly. 
I seized fast hold of the cane in order to extinguish the 
lights ; the cane broke in my hand, and the brilliant 


146 


The Improvisatore. 


bouquet fell to the earth amid the shouting of the 
people. 

“ Fie, Antonio !” cried the flower-girl. It pierced me 
through bone and marrow ; for it was Annunciata's 
voice. She threw all her comfits at my face, and the 
basket into the bargain. In my astonishment I leaped 
down, and the carriage rolled on. I saw, however, a 
nosegay of flowers thrown to me as a token of recon- 
ciliation. I caught at it in the air, and would have fol- 
lowed them, but it Was impossible to slip out ; for the 
carriages were all entangled, and there was the utmost 
confusion, although some turned to one side and some 
to the other. At length I escaped into a side street ; 
but when I was able to breathe more freely I perceived 
a heavy weight at my heart. “ With whom was Annun- 
ciata driving ?” 

That she wished to enjoy this, the last day of the 
carnival, seemed to me very natural ; but the gentle- 
man in the dressing-gown ! Ah, yes, my first conjec- 
ture was certainly correct : it must be Bernardo ! I 
determined to convince myself of it. I ran in haste 
through the cross-streets, and came to the Piazza 
Colonna, where Annunciata lived, and posted myself by 
the door to await her arrival. Before long the carriage 
drove up, and, as if I had been the servant of the house, 
I sprang towards it. Annunciata skipped out without 
seeming to notice me. Now came the gentleman in 
the dressing-gown ; he descended too slowly to be Ber- 
nardo. “ Thanks, my friend !” said he ; and I heard 
that it was the old lady-friend, and saw, by her feet and 
her brown gown, which hung below the dressing-gown, 
as she stepped out, how much I had erred in my con- 
jecture. 

“ Felissima notte , Signora !** cried I aloud in my joy. 

Annunciata laughed, and said jestingly that I was a 


The Improvisatore. 


T 47 


bad man, and that she therefore would set off to Flor- 
ence ; but her hand pressed mine. 

Happy, and with a light heart, I left her, and shouted 
aloud the wild cry, “ Perish every one who carries not 
a taper !” and all the while had not one myself. I 
thought in the meantime only on her and the good old 
woman, who had donned the dressing-gown and night- 
cap in order to enjoy the carnival fun, for which she 
did not seem created. And how beautiful and natural 
it was of Annunciata, that she had not gone driving 
about with strangers, and had not given a seat in her 
carriage to Bernardo, nor even to the chapel-master ! 
That I, the moment I recognized her, had become 
jealous of the night-cap, was a something which I 
would not acknowledge. Happy and merry as I was, I 
resolved to spend in pleasure the few hours which yet 
remained before the carnival had passed like a dream. 

I went into the Festino. The whole theatre was dec- 
orated with garlands of lamps and lights — all the boxes 
were filled with masks, and strangers without masks. 
From the pit a high, broad step led to the stage, cover- 
ing in the narrow orchestra, and was decorated with 
drapery and garlands for a ball-room. Two orchestras 
played alternately. A crowd of quaqueri and vetturini 
masks danced a merry ring-dance around the Bacchus 
and Ariadne. They drew me into their circle ; and, in 
the gladness of my heart, I made my first dancing- 
essay, and found it so delightful that it did not remain 
the last. No ! for as, somewhat late at night, I has- 
tened home, I danced about yet once more with the 
merry masks, and cried with them, “ The happiest 
night after the most beautiful carnival !” 

My sleep was only short. I thought in the lovely 
morning-hour on Annunciata, who now, perhaps, at this 
moment left Rome — thought upon the merry carnival- 


148 


The Improvisatore. 


days, which seemed to have created a new life for me, 
and which now, with all their exultation and tumult, 
were vanished forever. I had no rest — I must out into 
the free air. Everything was all at once changed — all 
doors and shops were closed — but few people were in 
the streets — and in the Corso, where yesterday one 
could hardly move for the joyous throng, there were 
now to be seen only a few’ slaves in their white dresses 
with the broad blue stripes, who swept away the comfits, 
which lay upon the streets like hail, while a miserable 
horse with its hay bundle, from which it kept eating, 
hanging by its side, drew along the little car into which 
the litter of the street was thrown. A vetturino drew 
up at a house, then fastened at the top of his coach 
trunks and bandboxes, drew a great mat over the whole, 
and then hooked the iron chain fast around the many 
boxes that were put behind. From one of the 'side- 
streets came another similarly laden coach. All went 
hence. They went to Naples or Florence. Rome 
would be as if dead for five long weeks, from Ash- 
Wednesday till Easter. 


CHAPTER XII. 

lent — allegri’s miserere in the sixtine chapel — visit 

TO BERNARDO — ANNUNCIATA. 

Still and deathlike slid on the weary day. In thought 
I recalled and revived the spectacle of the carnival, and 
the great adventure of my own life, in which Annunciata 
played the chief part. And day as it succeeded to day 
brought with it again this uniformity and this grave-like 


The Improvisa tore. 


149 


stillness. I was conscious of an emptiness which my 
books could not fill. Bernardo had formerly been every- 
thing to me ; now it was as if there lay a gulf between 
us. I felt myself constrained in his presence, and it 
became more and more clear to me that Annunciata 
alone occupied me. 

For some moments I was happy in this consciousness; 
but there came also days and nights in which I thought 
on Bernardo, who had loved her before I had done so. 
He, indeed, it was also who had introduced me to her. 
I had assured him that it was admiration, and nothing 
more, which I felt for her — him, my only friend — him, 
whom I had so often assured of my heart’s fidelity 
towards him. I was false and unjust. There burned 
in my heart the fire of remorse, but still my thoughts 
could not tear themselves from Annunciata, Every 
recollection of her, of my most happy hours spent with 
her, sunk me into the deepest melancholy. Thus con- 
template we the smiling image, beautiful as life, of the 
beloved dead ; and the more lifelike, the more kindly it 
smiles, the stronger is the melancholy which seizes us. 
The great struggle of life, of which I had so often been 
told at school, and which I had fancied was nothing more 
than the difficulties of a task, or the ill-humor or 
unreasonableness of a teacher, I now, for the first time, 
began to feel. If I were to overcome this passion which 
had awoke within me, would not my former peace cer- 
tainly return? To what, also, could this love tend? 
Annunciata stood high in her art ; yet the world would 
condemn me if I forsook my calling to follow her. The 
Madonna, too, would be angry ; for I had been born 
and brought up as her servant. Bernardo would never 
forgive me ; and I did not know, either, whether 
Annunciata loved me. That was at the bottom the 
bitterest thought to me. In vain I cast myself, in the 


The Improvisatore . 


150 


church, before the image of the Madonna ; in vain I 
besought her to strengthen my soul in my great 
struggle, for even here my sin was increased — the 
Madonna was to me like Annunciata. It seemed to me 
that the countenance of every beautiful woman wore 
that intellectual expression which existed in that of 
Annunciata. No ; I will rend these feelings out of my 
soul ! I will never again see her ! 

I now fully comprehended what I never could under- 
stand before — why people felt impelled to torture the 
body, that by the pain of the flesh they might conquer 
in the spiritual combat. My burning lips kissed the 
cold marble feet of the Madonna, and for the moment 
peace returned to my soul. I thought upon my child- 
hood, when my dear mother yet lived ; how happy I 
had been then, and what many delights even this dead 
time before Easter had brought me. 

And all, indeed, was just the same as then. In the 
corners and the squares stood, as then, the little green 
huts of leaves, ornamented with gold and silver stars ; 
and all round still hung the beautiful shields like signs, 
with their verses, which told that delicious dishes for Lent 
were here to be obtained. Every evening they lighted 
the gay-colored paper-lamps under the green boughs. 
How had I, as a child, delighted myself with these 
things ! how happy had I been in the splendid booth of 
the bacon-dealer, which in Lent glittered like a world 
of fancy ! The pretty angels of butter danced in a 
temple, of which sausages, wreathed with silver, formed 
the pillars and a Parmesan cheese the cupola! My 
first poem, to be sure, had been about all this magnifi- 
cence ; and the bacon-dealer’s lady had called it a 
Divina Commedia di Dante! Then I had heard not 
Annunciata, but neither did I know any singer. Would 
that I could forget Annunciata ! 


The Improvisatore. 


151 


I went with the procession to the seven holy churches 
of Rome, mingled my songs with those of the pilgrims, 
and my emotions were deep and sincere. But one day 
Bernardo whispered into my ear, with demon-like 
mirth : “ The merry lawyer on the Corso — the bold 
improvisatore, with penitence in his eyes, and ashes on 
his cheeks ! Ay, how well you can do it all ! how you 
understand every part ! I cannot imitate you here, 
Antonio !” There was a jeer, and yet, at the same 
time, an apparent truth in his words, which wounded 
me deeply. 

The last week of Lent was come, and strangers 
streamed back towards Rome. Carriage after carriage 
rolled in through the Porta del Popolo and the Porta 
del Giovanni. On Wednesday afternoon began the 
Miserere in the Sixtine chapel. My soul longed for 
music ; in the world of melody I could find sympathy 
and consolation. The throng was great, even within the 
chapel — the foremost division was already filled with 
ladies. Magnificent boxes, hung with velvet and golden 
draperies, for royal personages and foreigners from 
various courts, were here erected so high that they 
looked out beyond the richly carved railing which 
separated the ladies from the interior of the chapel. 
The papal Swiss guards stood in their bright festal 
array. The officers wore light armor, and in their 
helmets a waving plume : this was particularly becom- 
ing to Bernardo, who was greeted by the handsome 
young ladies with whom he was acquainted. 

I obtained a seat immediately within the barrier, not 
far from the place where the papal singers were 
stationed. Several English people sat behind me. I 
had seen them during the carnival, in their gaudy mas- 
querade dresses ; here they wore the same. They 
wished to pass themselves off for officers, even boys of 


i5 2 


The Improvisator e. 


ten years old. They all wore the most expensive 
uniforms, of the most showy and ill-matched colors. 
As for example, one wore a light blue coat, embroidered 
with silver, gold upon the slippers, and a sort of turban 
with features and pearls. But this was not anything 
new at the festivals in Rome, where a uniform obtained 
for its wearer a better seat. The people who were near 
smiled at it, but it did not occupy me long. 

The old cardinals entered in their magnificent violet- 
colored velvet cloaks, with their white ermine capes ; 
and seated themselves side by side, in a great half- 
circle, within the barrier, whilst the priests who had 
carried their trains seated themselves at their feet. By 
the little side-door of the altar the holy father now 
entered in his purple mantle and silver tiara. He 
ascended his throne. Bishops swung the vessels of 
incense around him, whilst young priests, in scarlet 
vestments, knelt, with lighted torches in their hands, 
before him and the high altar. 

The reading of the lessons began.* But it was impos- 
sible to keep the eyes fixed on the lifeless letters of the 
Missal — they raised themselves, with the thoughts, to 
the vast universe which Michael Angelo has breathed 
forth in colors upon the ceiling and the walls. I con- 
templated his mighty sibyls and wondrously glorified 
prophets, every one of them a subject for a painting. 
My eyes drank in the magnificent processions, the 
beautiful groups of angels ; they were not to me painted 
pictures, all stood living before me. The rich tree of 
knowledge, from which Eve gave the fruit to Adam ; 
the Almighty God, who floatad over the waters,, not 

* Before the commencement of the Miserere, fifteen long les- 
sons are read ; and, at the close of each one, a light in the grand 
candelabra is extinguished, there being a light for every lesson. — 
Author's Note . 


The Improvisatore. 


153 


borne up by angels, as the old masters had represented 
him — no, the company of angels rested upon him and 
his fluttering garments. It is true I had seen these 
pictures before, but never as now had they seized upon 
me. The crowd of people, perhaps even the lyric of 
my thoughts, made me wonderfully alive to poetical 
impressions ; and many a poet’s heart has felt as mine 
did! 

The bold foreshortenings, the determinate force with 
which every figure steps forward, is amazing, and car- 
ries one quite away ! It is a spiritual Sermon on the 
Mount in color and fo**m. Like Raphael, we stand in 
astonishment before the power of Michael Angelo. 
Every prophet is a Moses like that which he formed in 
marble. What giant forms are those which seize upon 
our eye and our thoughts as we enter ! But, when 
intoxicated with this view, let us turn our eyes to the 
background of the chapel, whose whole wall is a high 
altar of art and thought. The great chaotic picture, 
from the floor to the roof, shows itself there like a jewel, 
of which all the rest is only a setting. We see there the 
Last Judgment. 

Christ stands in judgment upon the clouds, and the 
apostles and his mother stretch forth their hands 
beseechingly for the poor human race. The dead raise 
the grave-stones under which they have lain ; blessed 
spirits float upwards, adoring to God, whilst the abyss 
seizes its victims. Here one of the ascending spirits 
seeks to save his condemned brother, whom the abyss 
already embraces in its snaky folds. The children of 
despair strike their clenched fists upon their brows, and 
sink into the depths ! In bold foreshortening, float and 
tumble whole legions between heaven and earth. The 
sympathy of the angels ; the expression of lovers who 
meet ; the child that, at the sound of the trumpet, 


154 


The Improvisatore. 


clings to the mother’s breast, is so natural and beauti- 
ful, that one believes one’s self to be one among those 
who are waiting for judgment. Michael Angelo has 
expressed in colors what Dante saw and has sung to 
the generations of the earth. 

The descending sun, at that moment, threw his last 
beams in through the uppermost window. Christ, and 
the blessed around him, were strongly lighted up ; 
whilst the lower part, where the dead arose, and the 
demons thrust their boat, laden with damned, from 
shore, were almost in darkness. 

Just as the sun went down the last lesson was ended, 
and the last light which now remained was extin- 
guished, and the whole picture-world vanished from 
before me ; but, in that same moment, burst forth 
music and singing. That which color had bodily 
revealed arose now in sound ; the day of Judgment, 
with its despair and its exultation, resounded above us. 

The father of the church, stripped, of his papal pomp, 
stood before the altar and prayed to the holy cross ; 
and upon the wings of the trumpet resounded the trem- 
bling choir, “ Populus mens, quid feci tibi ?” Soft angel 
tones rose above the deep song, tones which ascended 
not from a human breast ; it was not a man’s nor a 
woman’s ; it belonged to the world of spirits ; it was 
like the weeping of angels dissolved in melody. 

In this world of harmony my soul imbibed strength 
and the fullness of life. I felt myself joyful and strong, 
as I had not been for a long time. Annunciata, Ber- 
nardo, all my love, passed before my thought. I loved, 
in this moment, as blessed spirits may love. The peace 
which I had sought in prayer, but had not found, flowed 
now, with these tones, into my heart. 

When the Miserere was ended, and the people all had 
gone away, I was sitting with Bernardo in his room. I 


The Improvisatore . 


155 


offered him my hand in sincerity, spoke all that my 
excited soul dictated. My lips became eloquent. 
Allegri’s Miserere, our friendship, all the adventures of 
my singular life, furnished material. I told him how 
morally strong the music had made me, how heavy my 
heart had been previously — my sufferings, anxiety, and 
melancholy during the whole] of Lent ; yet, without 
confessing how great a share he and Annunciata had had 
in the whole ; this was the only .little fold of my heart 
which I did not unveil to him. He laughed at me, and 
said that I was a poor sort of a man ; that the shepherd- 
life, with Domenica and the Signora, all that woman’s 
education, and, last of all, the Jesuit school, had quite 
been the ruin of me ; that my hot Italian blood had 
been thinned with goat’s milk ; that my Trappist her- 
mit life had made me sick ; that it was necessary for me 
to have a little tame bird, which would sing me out of 
my dream-world ; that I ought to be a man like other 
folks, and then I should find myself sound both body 
and soul. 

“ We are very different, Bernardo,” said I ; “ and yet 
my heart is wonderfully attached to you ; at times I 
wish we could be always together.” 

“ Then it would not go well with our friendship,” 
replied he ; “ no, then it would be all over with it before 
were aware ! Friendship is like love, all the stronger 
for separation. I think sometimes how wearisome it 
must be in reality to be married. Forever and forever 
to see one another, and that in the smallest things. 
Most married folks are disgusting to one another ; it is 
a sort of propriety, a species of good-nature, which holds 
them together in the long run. I feel very well, in 
myself, that if my heart glows ever so fiercely, and hers 
whom I love, bums the same, yet would these flames, if. 


156 


The Improvisatore. 


they met, be extinguished. Love is desire, and desire 
dies when gratified.” 

“ But if, now, your wife were beautiful and discreet 
as — ” 

“ As Annunciata,” said he, seeing that I hesitated for 
the name which I wanted. “Yes, Antonio, I would 
look at the beautiful rose as long as it were fresh ; and 
when the leaves withered and the fragrance was lost, 
God knows what I then should have a fancy for. At 
this moment, however, I have a very curious one, and I 
have felt something like it before. I have a wish to see 
how red your blood is, Antonio ! But I am a reasonable 
man — you are my friend, my honest friend ; we will 
not light, even if we cross each other in the same love- 
adventure !” And with this he laughed aloud, pressed 
me violently to his* breast, and said, half -jestingly, “ I 
will make over to you my tame bird ; it begins to be 
sensitive, and will certainly please you ! Go with me 
this evening ; confidential friends need not hide any- 
thing from one another ; we will have a merry evening ! 
On Sunday the holy father will give us all his blessing !” 

“ I shall not go with you,” I replied. 

“ You are a coward, Antonio !” said he ; “ do not let 
the goat’s milk entirely subject your blood ! Your eye 
can burn like mine ; it can truly burn ; I have seen it ! 
Your sufferings, your anxiety, your penitence in Lent ; 
yes, shall I openly tell you the reason of them ? I know 
it very well, Antonio ; you cannot hide it from me ! 
Now, then, clasp Beauty to your heart — only you have 
not the courage — you are a coward, or — ” 

“Your conversation, Bernardo,” replied I, “offends 
me!” 

“ But you must endure it, though,” he answered. At 
these words the blood mounted into my cheeks, whilst 
my eyes filled with tears. 


The Improvisator e. 


157 


“ Can yon thus sport with my devotion for you ?” I 
cried. “ Do you fancy that I have come between you 
and Annunciata ; fancy that she has regarded me with 
more kindness than yourself ?” 

“ Oh, no !” interrupted he,” you know very well that I 
have not such a vivid fancy. But do not let her come 
into our conversation. And with regard to your devo- 
tion to me, of which you are always talking, I do not 
understand it. We give one another the hand ; we are 
friends, reasonable friends ; but your notions are over- 
strained — me you must take as I am.” 

This probably was the sting in our conversation — the 
part which went to my heart, and, so to say, went into 
the blood ; I felt myself wounded, and yet in his hand- 
pressure, at parting, there was a something cordial. 

The next day, which was Green-Thursday, called me 
to the church of St. Peter’s, into whose magnificent ves- 
tibule, the greatness of which has indeed led some 
strangers to imagine that it was the whole church, as 
great a throng was found as was seen in the streets and 
across the bridge of St. Angelo. It was as if the whole 
of Rome flocked here to wonder, even as much as 
strangers did, at the greatness of the church, which 
seemed more and more to extend itself to the throng. 

Singing resounded above us ; two great choirs, in dif- 
ferent parts of the nave of the church, replied to each 
other. The throng crowded to witness the feet- wash- 
ing, which had just begun.* From the barrier behind 
which the stranger ladies were seated, one of them 
nodded kindly to me. It was Annunciata. She was 
come — was here in the church ; my heart beat violently. 
I stood so near to her that I could bid her welcome ! 


*On Green-Thursday the Pope washes the feet of thirteen 
priests, old and young ; they kiss his hand, and he gives to them 
a bouquet of blue gillyflowers. — Author's Note. 


158 


The Improvisatore. 


She had arrived the day before, but still too late to 
hear Allegri’s Miserere ; yet she had been present at the 
Ave Maria in the church of St. Peter’s. 

“The extraordinary gloom,” said she, “made all 
more imposing than now by daylight ! Not a light 
burned, excepting the lamps at St. Peter’s tomb ; these 
formed a wreath of light, and yet not strong enough to 
illumine the nearest pillar. All marched around in 
silence ; I, too, sank down feeling right vividly how 
very much can be comprised in nothing ; what force 
there lies in a religious silence V* 

Her old friend, whom I now first discovered, and who 
wore a long veil, nodded kindly. The solemn cere- 
mony was in the meantime concluded, and they looked 
in vain for their servant, who should have attended 
them to their carriage. A crowd of young men had 
become aware of Annunciata’s presence ; she seemed 
uneasy, and wished to go ; I ventured to entreat that I 
might conduct them out of the church to their carriage. 
The old lady immediately took my arm ; but Annun- 
ciata walked beside of us ; I had not courage to offer 
her my arm ; but when we neared the door, and were 
carried along with the crowd, I felt her arm within 
mine ; it went like fire through my blood. 

. I found the carriage. When they were seated, 
Annunciata asked me to dine with them that day. 
“ Only to eat a meagre dinner,” said she, “< such as we 
may enjoy in Lent.” 

I was happy ! The old lady, who did not hear well, 
understood, however, by the expression of Annunciata’s 
face, that it was an invitation, but imagined that it was 
to take a seat with them in the carriage. She therefore, 
in a moment, put aside all the shawls and cloaks which 
fay on the seat opposite, and extended to me her hand, 


The Improvisa tore. 


159 


saying, “Yes, be so good, Mr. Abbe! there is room 
enough !” 

That was not Annunciata’s meaning ; I saw a slight 
crimson pass over her cheek, but I sat directly opposite 
to her, and the carriage rolled away. 

A delicious little dinner awaited us. Annunciata 
spoke of her residence in Florence, and of the festival 
of to-day ; inquired from me about Lent in Rome, and 
how I had passed the time ; a question which I could 
not answer quite candidly. 

“ You will certainly see the christening of the Jews 
on Easter-day ?” asked I, casting, at the same time, a 
glance at the old woman, whom I had quite forgotten. 

“ She did not hear it !” replied Annunciata, “ and if 
she had, you need not have minded. I only go to such 
places as she can accompany me to, and for her it would 
not be becoming to be present at the festival in the 
baptismal chapel of Constantine.* Neither is it very 
interesting to me ; for it so rarely happens that it is 
from conviction that either Jews or Turks receive bap- 
tism. I remember, in my childhood, what an unpleas- 
ant impression this whole scene made upon me. I saw 
a little Jew boy, who seemed to be seven years old ; he 
came forth with the dirtiest shoes and stockings, with 
thin, uncombed hair ; and, in the most painful contrast 
with this, in a magnificent white silk dress, which the 
church had given him. The parents, filthy as the boy, 
followed him ; they had sold his soul for a happiness 
which they did not know themselves !” 

“ You saw that as a child here in Rome ?” asked I 0 


* Annually, on Easter-day, some Jews or Turks are baptized. 
In th z Diaria Romano this day is thus marked : si fa il battesime 
di Ebrei e Turchi. — Author's Note. 


i6o 


The Improvisatore. 


“ Yes !” returned she, crimsoning ; “ but yet, for all 
that, I am not a Roman.” 

“ The first time I saw you, and heard you sing,” said 
I, “ it seemed to me that I had known you before. I do 
not even know but I fancy so still ! If we believed in 
the transmigration of souls, I could fancy that we both 
had been birds, had hopped upon the same twigs, and 
had known one another for a very long time. Is there 
any kind of recollection in your soul ? nothing which 
says to you that we have seen each other before ?” 

“ Nothing at all !” replied Annunciata, and looked me 
steadfastly in the face. 

“ As you have just told me that you were a child in 
Rome, and consequently not, as I thought, had passed 
all your young years in Spain, a remembrance awoke in 
my soul, the same which I felt the first time that you 
stood before me as Dido. Have you never, as a child, 
at Christmas, made a speech before the little Jesus, in 
the church Ara Coeli, like other children ?” 

“ That I have !” exclaimed she ; “ and you, Antonio, 
were the little boy who drew all attention !” 

“But was supplanted by you !” returned I. 

“ It was you, Antonio !” exclaimed she, aloud, seizing 
both my hands, and looking into my face with an in- 
describably gentle expression. The old lady drew her 
chair nearer to us, and looked gravely at us. Annun- 
ciata then related the whole to her, and she smiled at 
our recognition scene. 

“ How my mother and everybody talked about you,” 
said I ; “of your delicate, almost spirit-like form, and 
your sweet voice ! yes, I was jealous of you, my vanity 
could not endure to be cast so wholly in the shade 
by any one. How strangely paths in life cross one 
another !” 

“ I remember you very well !” said she ; “ you had on 


The Improvisatore . 


161 


a little short jacket, with a many white buttons, and 
these at that time excited most my interest for you !” 

“You,” replied I, “had a beautiful red scarf upon 
your breast ; but yet it was not that, but your eyes, 
your jet-black hair which most of all captivated me ! 
Yes, I could not but recognize you ; you are the same 
as then, only the features more developed ; I should 
have known them, even under a greater change. I 
said so immediately to Bernardo, but he gainsaid me, 
and thought it must be quite another — ” 

“ Bernardo !” she exclaimed ; and it seemed to me 
that her voice trembled. 

“Yes,” I replied, somewhat confused; “he also 
fancied that he knew you, that he had seen you, I 
should say ; seen you, and connected in such a way as 
did not agree with my conjecture. Your dark hair, 
your glance — yes, you will not be angry with me, he 
immediately changed his opinion ; he fancied at the 
first moment that you were — ” I hesitated ; “ that you 
were not of the Catholic church, and thus that I could 
not have heard you preach in Ara Coeli.” 

“ That I was, perhaps, of the same faith as my friend 
here?” said Annunciata, indicating the old lady. I 
nodded involuntarily, but seized her hand at the same 
time, and asked, “ Are you angry with me ?” 

“ Because your friend took me for a Jewish maiden ?” 
asked she, smiling ; “ you are a strange creature !” 

I felt that our connection in childhood had made us 
more familiar ; every care was forgotten by me, and 
also every resolution never to see, never to love her. 
My soul burned only for her. 

The galleries were closed these two days before 
Easter ; Annunciata said how charming it must be, if, 
at this time, and quite at one’s ease, one could wander 
through them ; but that was hardly possible. The wish 


162 


The Improvisatore . 


from her lips was a command ; I knew the custodian 
and the door-keeper, all the dependants who now were 
returned to the Palazza Borghese, where was one of the 
most interesting collections in Rome, through which I, 
as a child, had gone with Francesca, and made acquaint- 
ance with every little Love in Francesco Albani’s Four 
Seasons. 

I entreated that I might take her and the old lady 
there the following day ; she consented, and I was in- 
finitely happy. 

In my solitude at home I again thought on Bernardo ! 
No, he loved her not, I consoled myself with thinking ; 
“his love is only sensual, not pure and great like 
mine !” Our last conversation seemed to me still more 
bitter than it had done before ; I saw only his pride, 
felt myself very much offended, and worked myself up 
into a greater passion than I had ever done before. His 
pride had been wounded by Annunciata’s apparently 
greater kindness towards me than him. To be sure it 
was he who introduced me to her, but perhaps his 
intention only was to make fun of me, and therefore he 
had expressed astonishment at my singing, and at my 
improvisation — he had never dreamed that I could out- 
shine his handsome person, his free and bold manner. 
Now, it had been his intention to deter me from again 
visiting her. But a good angel had willed it otherwise ! 
her gentleness, her eyes, all had told me that she loved 
me, that she had a kindness for me, nay, more than a 
kindness, for she must have felt that I loved her ! 

In my joy I pressed hot kisses upon my pillow, but 
with this feeling of the happiness of love a bitterness 
arose in my heart towards Bernardo. I grew angry 
with myself for not having had more character, more 
warmth, more gall ; now a hundred excellent answers 
occurred to me, which I might have given him when he 


The Improvised ore. 


163 


treated me the last time like a boy ; every little affront 
which he had given now stood livingly before me. For 
the first time I felt the blood regularly boil in my veins ; 
hot anger and the purest and best emotions, mingled 
with a hateful bitterness, deprived me of sleep. It was 
not until towards morning that I slumbered a little, and 
then awoke stronger and lighter of heart. 

I announced to the custodian that I was about to 
bring a foreign lady to see the gallery, and then went 
to Annunciata. We drove all three to the Palazzo 
Borghese. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE PICTURE GALLERY A MORE PRECISE EXPLANATION 

EASTER — THE TURNING POINT OF MY HISTORY. 

It was to me quite a peculiar feeling to conduct 
Annunciata to where I had played as a boy — where the 
signora had shown to me the pictures, and had amused 
herself with my naive inquiries and remarks. I knew 
every piece, but Annunciata knew them better than I 
did ; her observations were most apposite ; with an 
accustomed eye, and natural taste, she detected every 
beauty. We stood before that celebrated piece of 
Gerardo del Notti, Lot and his Daughters. I praised it 
for its great effect — Lot’s strong countenance, and the 
life-enjoying daughter who offered him wine, and the 
red evening heaven which shone through the dark 
trees. 

“ It is painted with soul and flame !” exclaimed she. 
“ I admire the pencil of this artist, as regards coloring 
and expression ; but the subjects which he has chosen 
do not please me. I require, even in pictures^ a kind of 


164 


The Improvisators . 


fitness, a noble purity in the selection of the subject ; 
therefore Correggio’s Danae pleases me less than it 
might do ; beautiful is she, divine is the little angel with 
the bright wings, which sits upon the couch, and helps 
her to collect together the gold, but the subject is to me 
ignoble, it wounds, so to say, my heart’s feeling of 
beauty. For this reason is Raphael so great in my 
judgment ; in everything that I have seen of his, he is 
the apostle of innocence, and he, therefore, alone has 
been able to give us the Madonna !” 

“ But beauty, as a work of art,” interrupted I, “ can, 
however, make us overlook the want of nobility in 
subject.” 

“ Never !” replied Annunciata ; “ art in every one of 
its branches is high and holy ; and purity in spirit is 
more attractive than purity of form, and therefore the 
naive representations of the Madonna by the olden mas- 
ters excite us so deeply, although, with their rough forms 
they often seem more like Chinese pictures, where all is 
so stiff and hard. The spirit must be pure in the pic- 
tures of the painter, as well as in the song of the poet ; 
some extravagances I can forgive, call them something 
startling, and lament that the painter has fallen into 
such, but I can, nevertheless, please myself with the 
whole.” 

“ But,” I exclaimed, “variety in subject is interesting ; 
to see always — ” 

“ You mistake me !” she returned. “ I do not desire 
that people should always paint Madonnas ! no ; I am 
delighted with a glorious landscape, a living scene out 
of the life of the people, a ship in a storm, and the rob- 
ber-scenes of Salvator Rosa ! But I will not have any- 
thing revolting in the region of art, and so I call even 
Scidoni’s well-painted sketch in the Sciara Palazzo. You 
have not forgotten it. Two peasants upon asses ride 


The Improvisatore . 


165 


past a stone wall, upon which lies a death’s head, within 
which sit a mouse, a gadfly, and a worm, and on the wall 
these words are to be read, ‘ Et ego in Arcadia /’ ” 

“ I know it,” replied I ; “it hangs by the side of 
Raphael’s charming violin-player.” 

“ Yes,” returned Annunciata ; “ would that the 

inscription was placed under this, and not upon the 
other hateful picture !” 

We now stood before Francesco Albani’s Four Seasons. 
I told her what an impression the little Loves had made 
upon me as a child, when I had lived and played about 
in this gallery. 

“You enjoyed happy life-points in your childhood !” 
said she, repressing a sigh, which perhaps had reference 
to her own. 

“ You, doubtless, no less so,” replied I ; “ you stood, 
the first time I saw you, like a happy, admired child, 
and, when we met the second time, you captivated the 
whole of Rome, and — seemed happy. Were you so 
really at heart ?” 

I had bowed myself half down to her. She looked 
directly into my face with an expression of singular 
melancholy, and said, “ The admired, happy child was 
fatherless and motherless — a homeless bird upon the 
leafless twig ; it might have perished of hunger, but the 
despised Jew gave it shelter and food till it could flutter 
forth over the wild, restless sea !” 

She ceased, and then, shaking her head, added, “ But 
these are not adventures which could interest a stranger ; 
and I cannot tell how I have been induced to gossip 
about it.” 

She would have moved on, but I seized her hand, 
whilst I inquired, “Am I, then, such a stranger to 
you ?” 

She gazed for a moment before her in silence, and 


r66 


The Improvisatore . 


said, with a pensive smile, “ Yes, I, too, have also had 
beautiful moments in life. And,” added she, with her 
accustomed gaiety, “ I will only think on these ! Our 
meeting as children — your strange dreaming about that 
which is past, infected me also, and made the heart turn 
to its own pictures, instead of the works of art which 
surround us here !” 

When we left the gallery and had returned to her 
hotel, we found that Bernardo had been there to pay his 
respects to her. They told him that she and the old lady 
had driven out, and that I had accompanied them. His 
displeasure at the knowledge of this I had foreseen 
already ; but instead of grieving over this, as I should 
have done formerly, my love for Annunciata had awoke 
defiance and bitterness towards him. He had so often 
wished that I was possessed of character and determin- 
ation, even if it made me unjust to him ; now he would 
see that I had both. 

Forever rung in my ear Annunciata’s words about 
the despised Jew who took the homeless bird under his 
wing ; she must then be the same whom Bernardo had 
seen at the old Hanoch’s. This interested me infin- 
itely ; but I could not again induce her to renew the 
subject. 

When I made my appearance the next day, I found 
her in her chamber, studying a new piece. I enter- 
tained myself for a long time with the old lady, who 
was more deaf than I had imagined, and who seemed 
right thankful that I would talk with her. It had 
occurred to me that she had seemed kindly disposed to 
me since my first improvisation ; and from that I had 
imagined that she had heard it. 

“ And so I have done,” she assured me ; “ from the 
expression of your countenance, and from some few 
words which reached me I understood the whole. And 


The Improvisator e % 


167 


it was beautiful ! It is in this way that I understand all 
Annunciata’ s recitative, and that alone by the expres- 
sion ; my eye has become acuter as my ear has become 
duller.” 

She questioned me about Bernardo, who had called 
yesterday when we were out, and lamented that he was 
not with us. She expressed an extraordinary good-will 
towards him, and great interest. “Yes,” said she, as I 
assented to it, “ he has a noble character ! I know one 
trait of him. May the God of the Jew and the Christian 
defend him for it !” 

By degrees she became more eloquent. Her affection 
for Annunciata was touching and strong. Thus much 
became clear to me out of the many broken and half- 
darkly expressed communications which she made. 
Annunciata was born in Spain, of Spanish parents. In 
her early childhood she came to Rome ; and when she 
became there suddenly fatherless and motherless, the 
old Hanoch, who, in his youth, had been in her native 
land, and had known her parents, was the only one who 
befriended her. Afterwards, whilst yet a child, she 
was sent back to her native' country, to a lady who cul- 
tivated her voice and her dramatic talent. A man of 
great influence had fallen in love with the beautiful 
girl ; but her coldness towards him had awoke in him 
bitterness, and a desire to obtain her by craft. The old 
woman seemed unwilling to lift the mysterious veil 
which covered this terrible time. Annunciata’s life was 
in danger ; she secretly fled to Italy, where it would be 
difficult to discover her, with her old foster-father, in 
the J ews’ quarter in Rome. It was only a year and a 
half since this happened ; and during this time it was 
that Bernardo had seen her, and when she had pre- 
sented him with the wine of which he had spoken so 
much. How indiscreet it seemed to me to show herself 


The Improvisatore . 


168 


thus to a stranger, when she might have expected an 
assassin in every one of them. Yes, she knew indeed 
that Bernardo was not such a one ; she had heard noth- 
ing, indeed, but the praises of his boldness and of his 
noble conduct. Shortly after this they heard that her 
persecutor was dead. She flew forth, therefore, inspired 
by her sacred art, and enraptured the people by it and 
her beauty. The old lady accompanied her to Naples, 
saw her gather her first laurels, and had not yet left 
her. 

“ Yes,” continued the eloquent old lady, “ she is also 
an angel of God ! Pious is she in her faith, as a woman 
ought to be ; and understanding has she as much as one 
could wish for the best heart.” 

I left the house just as the joy-firing commenced. In 
all the streets, in the squares, from balconies and win- 
dows, people stood with small cannons and pistols, 
which was a sign that Lent was now at an end. The 
dark curtains with which, for five long weeks, the pic- 
tures in churches and chapels had been covered, fell off 
at the same moment. All was Easter gladness. The 
time of sorrow was over ; to-morrow was Easter, the 
day of joy, and of two-fold joy for me ; for I was invited 
to accompany Annunciata to the church festival and the 
illumination of the dome. 

The bells of Easter rang — the cardinals rolled abroad 
in their gay carriages, loaded with servants behind — the 
equipages of rich foreigners — the crowd of foot-passen- 
gers filled the whole narrow streets. From the Castle of 
St. Angelo waved the great flag on which were the papal 
arms and the Madonna’s holy image. In the square of 
St. Peter’s there was music, and round about garlands 
of roses, and wood cuts, representing the Pope distribut- 
ing his blessing, were to be purchased. The fountains 
threw up their gigantic columns of water, and all around 


The Improvisa tore . 


169 


by the colonnades were loges and benches, which 
already, like the square itself, were almost filled. 

Anon, and almost as great a throng proceeded from 
the church, where processions and singing, exhibitions 
of holy relics, fragments of food, nails, &c., had refreshed 
many a pious mind. The immense square seemed a 
sea of human beings ; head moved itself to head ; the 
line of carriages drew itself closer together ; peasants 
and boys climbed up the pedestals of the saints. It 
seemed as if all Rome at this moment lived and breathed 
only here. 

The Pope was borne in procession out of church. 
He sat aloft on the shoulders of six priests apparelled 
in lilac-colored robes,, upon a magnificent throne-chair ; 
two younger priests waved before him colossal peacocks’ 
tails on long staves ; priests preceded him, swinging the 
vessels of incense, and cardinals followed after, singing 
hymns. 

As soon as the procession had issued from the portal, 
all the choirs of music received him with triumph. 
They bore him up the lofty steps to the gallery, upon 
whose balcony he soon showed himself, surrounded by 
cardinals. Every one dropped on their knees — long 
lines of soldiers — the aged person like L the child — the 
Protestant stranger alone stood erect, and would not 
bow himself for the blessing of an old man. Annunciata 
half kneeled in the carriage, and looked up to the holy 
father with soul-full eyes. A deep silence reigned 
around, and the blessing, like invisible tongues of fire, 
was wafted over the heads of us all. 

Next fluttered down from the Papal balcony two 
different papers ; the one containing a forgiveness of all 
sins, the other a curse against all the enemies of the 
Church. And the people struck about them to obtain 
even the smallest scrap of them. 


170 


The Improvisatore . 


Again rang the bells of all the churches ; music 
mingled itself in the jubilant sound. I was as happy as 
Annunciata. At the moment when our carriage was 
set in motion, Bernardo rode close up to us. He saluted 
both the ladies, but appeared not to see me. 

“ How pale he was !” said Annunciata ; “ is he ill ?” 

“ I fancy not,” I replied ; but I knew very well what 
had chased the blood from his cheeks. 

This matured my determination. I felt how deeply 
I loved Annunciata ; that I could give up everything 
for her if she yielded me her love. I resolved to follow 
her. I doubted not of my dramatic talent ; and my 
singing — I knew the effect which my singing had 
produced. I should certainly make my debut with 
honor when I had once ventured on this step. If she 
loved me, what pretension had Bernardo ? He might 
woo her if his love were as strong as mine ; and, if she 
loved him — yes, then I would instantly withdraw my 
claim. 

I wrote all this to him in a letter that same day, and 
I will venture to believe that there breathed in it a 
warm and true heart, for many tears fell upon the paper 
as I spoke of our early acquaintance, and how wonder- 
fully my heart had always clung to him. The latter 
was despatched, and I felt myself calmer, although the 
thought of losing Annunciata, like the vulture of 
Prometheus, rent my heart with its sharp beak ; yet, 
nevertheless, I dreamed of accompanying her forever, 
and of winning at her side honor and joy. As singer, 
as improvisatore, I should now begin the drama of my 
life. 

After the Ava Maria I went with Annunciata and the 
old lady in their carriage to see the illumination of the 
dome. The whole of the church of St. Peter’s, with its 
lofty cupola, the two lesser ones by its side, and the 


The Improvisatore. 


1 7i 


whole fa5ade, were adorned with transparencies and 
paper lanterns ; these were so placed in the architec- 
ture that the whole immense building stood with a 
fiery outline amid the blue air. The throng in the 
neighborhood of the church seemed greater than in the 
forenoon ; we could scarcely move at a foot’s pace. 
We first saw from the bridge of St. Angelo the whole 
illuminated giant structure, which was reflected in the 
yellow Tiber, where boat-loads of rejoicing people 
were charmed with the whole picture. 

When we reached the square of St. Peter’s, where all 
was music, the ringing of bells and rejoicing, the signal 
was just given for the changing of the illumination. 
Many hundreds of men were dispersed over the roof 
and dome of the church, where, at one and the same 
moment, they shoved forwards great iron pans with 
burning pitch garlands ; it was as if every lantern 
burst forth into flame ; the whole structure became a 
blazing temple of God, which shone over Rome, like 
the star over the cradle in Bethlehem.* The triumph 
of the people increased every moment, and Annunciata 
was overcome by the view of the whole. 

“ Yet it is horrible !” she exclaimed. “ Only think of 
the unhappy man who must fasten on and kindle the 
topmost light on the cross upon the great cupola. The 
very thought makes me dizzy.” 

“ It is as lofty as the pyramids of Egypt,” said I ; “it 
requires boldness in the man to swing himself up there, 
and to fasten the string. The holy father gives him 
the sacrament, therefore, before he ascends.” 


* The church is entirely built of stone ; so are the surrounding 
edifices ; thus there is no danger from leaving the pitch-garlands 
and iron-pans to burn out of themselves. All is therefore in flame 
through the whole night . — Author s Note. 


The Improvisatore. 


1 72 


“ Thus must the life of a human being be risked,” 
sighed she ; “ and that merely for the pomp and glad- 
ness of a moment.” 

“ But it is done for the glorifying of God,” I replied ; 
“ and how often do we not risk it for much less ?” 

The carriages rushed past us ; most of them drove to 
Monte Pincio, in order to see from that distance the 
illuminated church, and the whole city which swam in 
its glory. 

“ Yet it is,” said I, “ a beautiful idea, that all the light 
over the city beams from the church. Perhaps Cor- 
reggio drew from this the idea for his immortal night.” 

“ Pardon me,” she said ; “ do you not remember that 
the picture was completed before the church? Cer- 
tainly he derived the idea from his own heart ; and it 
seems to me also far more beautiful. But we must see 
the whole show from a more distant point. Shall we 
drive up to Monte Maria, where the throng is not so 
great, or to Monte Pincio ? We are close by the gate.” 

We rolled along behind the colonnade, and were soon in 
the open country. The carriage drew up at the liitle 
inn on the hill. The cupola looked glorious from this 
point ; it seemed as if built of burning suns. The 
facade, it is true, was not to be seen, but this only 
added to the effect ; the splendor which diffused itself 
through the illumined air caused it to appear as if the 
cupola, burning with stars, swam in a sea of light. 
The music and the ringing of bells reached us, but all 
around us reigned a twofold night, and the stars stood 
only like white points high in the blue air, as if they 
had dimmed their shine above the splendid Easter fire 
of Rome. 

I dismounted from the carriage, and went into the 
little inn to fetch them some refreshment. As I was 
returning through the narrow passage where the lamp 


The Improvisatore. 


173 


burned before the image of the Virgin, Bernardo stood 
before me, pale as when, in the Jesuit school, he 
received the garland. His eyes glowed as if with the 
delirium of fever, and he seized my hand with the force 
and wildness of a madman. 

“I am not an assassin, Antonio," said he, with a 
strangely suppressed voice, “ or I would drive my sabre 
into your false heart ; but fight with me you shall ! 
whether your cowardice will or will not. Come, come 
with me !” 

“ Bernardo, are you mad ?” inquired I, and wildly 
tore myself from him. 

“ Only cry aloud,” returned he, with the same sup- 
pressed voice, “ so that the crowd may come and help 
you, for you dare not stand single handed against me ! 
Before they bind my hands you will be a dead man !” 

He offered me a pistol. “ Come, fight with me, or I 
shall become your murderer !” and, so saying, he drew 
me forth with him. I took the pistol which he had 
offered to defend myself from him. 

“ She loves you,” whispered he ; “ and, in your vanity, 
you will parade it before all the Roman people, before 
me, whom you have deceived with false, hypocritical 
speeches, although I never gave you cause to do so.” 

“ You are ill, Bernardo,” I exclaimed ; “ you are mad ; 
do not come too near me.” 

He threw himself upon me. I thrust him back. At 
that moment I heard a report ; my hand trembled ; all 
was in smoke around me, but a strangely deep sigh, a 
shriek it could not be called, reached my ear, my heart ! 
My pistol had gone off ; Bernardo lay before me in his 
blood. 

I stood there like a sleep-walker, and held the pistol 
grasped in my hand. It was not till I perceived the 
voices of the people of the house around me, and heard 


1 74 


The Improvisa tore. 


Annunciata exclaim, “Jesus Maria !” and saw her and 
the old lady before me, that I was conscious of the 
whole misfortune. 

“ Bernardo !” I cried in despair, and would have flung 
myself on his body ; but Annunciata lay on her knees 
beside him, endeavoring to staunch the blood. 

I can see even now her pale countenance and the 
steadfast look which she riveted upon me. I was as if 
rooted to the spot where I stood. 

“ Save yourself ! save yourself !” cried the old lady, 
taking hold of me by the arm. 

“ I am innocent !” I exclaimed, overcome by anguish, 
“ Jesus Maria ! I am innocent ! He would have killed 
me ; he gave me the pistol, which went off by acci- 
dent !” and that which I perhaps otherwise should not 
have dared to say aloud I revealed in my despair. 
“Yes, Annunciata, we loved thee. For thy sake would 
I die, like him ! Which of us two was the dearer to 
thee ? Tell me, in my despair, whether thou lovest me, 
and then will I escape.” 

“ Away !” stammered she, making a sign with her 
hand, whilst she was busied about the dead. 

“ Fly !” cried the old lady. 

“Annunciata,” besought I, overcome with misery, 
“ which of us two was the dearer to thee ? ’ 

She bowed her head down to the dead ; I heard her 
weeping, and saw her press her lips to Bernardo’s 
brow. 

“ The gens d'armes !” cried some one just by me. “ Fly, 
fly !” and, as if by invisible hands, I was torn out of the 
house. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

THE PEASANTS OF ROCCA DEL PAPA THE ROBBERS* CAVE 

THE PARCiE OF MY LIFE. 

“ She loves Bernardo !** rung in my heart ; it was the 
arrow of death which poisoned my whole blood, which 
drove me onward, and silenced even the voice which 
cried within me, “ Thou hast murdered thy friend and 
brother !*’ 

I instinctively rushed through bushes and underwood, 
climbing over the stone walls which fenced in the vine- 
yards on the hill-side. The cupola of St Peter’s lit up 
the atmosphere to a great distance : thus shone forth 
the altar of Cain and Abel, when the murderer fled. 

For many hours I wandered uninterruptedly for- 
wards ; nor did I pause until I reached the yellow 
Tiber, which cut off my farther progress. From Rome 
onwards, down to the Mediterranean, no bridge was to 
be met with, nor even a boat, which could have con- 
veyed me over. This unexpected impediment was as 
the stab of a knife, which, for a moment, cut in sunder 
the worm that gnawed at my heart ; but it speedily 
grew together again, and I felt that my whole misfor- 
tune was twofold. 

Not many paces from me I perceived the ruins of a 
tomb, larger in circumference, but more desolate, than 
that in which I had lived as a child with the old 



The Improvisa tore. 


1 76 


Domenica. Three horses were tied to one of the over- 
turned blocks of stone, and were feeding from the 
bundles of hay which were fastened to their necks. 

A wide opening led, by a few deep steps, into the 
vault of the tomb, within which a fire was burning. 
Two strong-built peasants, wrapped in their sheep-skin 
cloaks, with the wool outwards, and in large boots and 
pointed hats, in which was fastened a picture of the 
Virgin, stretched themselves before the fire, and smoked 
with their short pipes. A shorter figure, wrapped in a 
large grey cloak, and with a broad, slouching hat, 
leaned against the wall, while he drank from a flask of 
wine to a farewell and happy meeting. Scarcely had I 
contemplated the whole group, before I was myself dis- 
covered. They snatched up their weapons, which lay 
beside them as if they apprehended a surprise, and 
stepped hastily towards me. 

“ What do you seek for here ?” they asked. 

“ A boat to take me across the Tiber,” I replied. 

“ You may look for that a long time,” they returned. 
“ Here is neither bridge nor boat, unless folks bring 
them with them.” 

“ But,” began one of them, while he surveyed me 
from top to toe, “ you are come a long way but of the 
highroad, signore, and it is not safe out o’ nights. 
Caesar’s band may still have long roots, although the 
holy father has been using the spade, till he has per- 
haps worked his own hand off.” 

“ You should, at least,” remarked another, “ have 
taken some arms with you. See what we have done — a 
threefold charge in the gun, and a pistol in the belt, lest 
the piece should miss fire.” 

“ Yes, and I have also taken a good little case-knife 
with me,” said the first speaker, and drew out of his 


BERNARDO, ARE YOU MAD]” — See PfUje 173 















The Improvisatore . 


1 77 


belt a sharp and bright knife, with which he played in 
his hand. 

“ Stick it again in its sheath, Emidio,” said the second ; 
“ the strange gentleman gets quite pale ; he is a young 
man who cannot bear such sharp weapons. The first, 
best villain will get from him his few scudi — us he 
would not so easily manage. Do you see?” said the 
fellow to me ; “ give us your money to keep, and so it 
will be quite safe.” 

“ All that I have you can take,” replied I, weary of 
life, and obtuse from suffering ; “ but no great sum will 
you get.” 

It was evident to me in what company I now found 
myself. I quickly felt in my pocket, in which I knew 
there to be two scudi ; but, to my astonishment, found 
there a purse. I drew it forth ; it was of woman’s 
work ; I had seen it before, in the hands of the old lady 
at Annunciata’s ; she must have thrust it into my 
pocket, at the last moment, that I might have spare 
money for my unhappy flight. They snatched all three 
at the full purse ; and I shook out its contents upon the 
flat stone before the fire. 

“Gold and silver !” cried they, as they saw the white 
louis-d’or shining among the piastres. “ It would have 
been a sin if the beautiful souls had fallen into robbers’ 
hands.” 

“ Kill me now,” said I, “ if such be your intention ; so 
there may be an end of my sufferings.” 

“ Madonna mia !” exclaimed the first, “ what do you 
take us for ? We are honest peasants from Rocca del 
Papa. We kill no Christian brother. Drink a glass of 
wine with us, and tell us what compels you to this 
journey.” 

“ That remains my secret,” said I, and eagerly took 


1 78 


The Improvisator e . 


the wine which they offered to me ; for my lips burned 
for a refreshing draught. 

They whispered to each other ; and then the man in 
the broad hat rose up, nodded familiarly to the others, 
looked jestingly into my face, and said, “ You’ll pass a 
cold night after the warm, merry evening !” He went 
out, and we soon heard him galloping. 

“ You wish to go over the Tiber ?” said one ; “ if you 
will not go with us, you will have to wait a long time. 
Seat yourself behind me on my horse, for to swim after 
its tail would not be much to your liking.” 

Secure I was not in this place ; I felt my home was 
with the outlawed. The fellow assisted me upon a 
strong, fiery horse, and then placed himself before me. 

“ Let me fasten this cord around you,” said the fellow, 
“ or else you may slip off, and not find the ground.” He 
then threw a cord fast round my back and arms, flinging 
it round himself at the same time, so that we sat back 
to back ; it was not possible for me to move my hands. 
The horse advanced slowly into the water, trying every 
step before he took it. Presently the water reached the 
saddle-bow ; but, laboring powerfully, he gained at 
length the opposite shore. As soon as we had reached 
this, the fellow loosened the cord which bound me to 
him, yet only to secure my hands still more firmly to 
the girths. 

“ You might fall off and break your neck,” said he. 
“ Hold only fast, for now we cut across the Campagna.” 

He struck his heels into the sides of the horse ; the 
other did the same ; and away they sped, like well- 
accustomed horsemen, over the great desolate plain. I 
held myself fast, both with hands and feet. The wind 
caught up the fellow’s long, black hair, which flapped 
upon my cheeks. We sped on past the fallen grave- 
stones ; I saw the ruined aqueduct, and the moon 


The Improvisatore. 


179 


which, red as blood, rose upon the horizon, whilst light, 
white mists flew past us. 

That I had killed Bernardo — was separated from 
Annunciata and my home, and now, in wild flight, 
bound upon the horse of a robber, was speeding across 
the Campagna — seemed all to me a dream, a horrible 
dream ! Would that I might speedily awake, and see 
these images of terror dissipate themselves ! I closed 
my eyes firmly, and felt only the cold wind from the 
mountains blowing upon my cheek. 

“ Now we shall soon be under grandmother’s petti- 
coat,” said the rider, when we approached the moun- 
tains. “ Is it not a good horse which we have ? Then 
it has also had this year St. Antonio’s blessing ; my 
fellow decked him out with bunches of silken ribands, 
opened the Bible before him, and sprinkled him with 
holy water ; and no devil, or evil eye, can have any 
influence on him this year.” 

Daylight began to dawn on the horizon when we 
reached the mountains. 

“ It begins to get light,” said the other rider, “ and the 
signore’s eyes may suffer ; I will give him a parasol 
and with that he threw a cloth over my head, which he 
bound so fast that I had not the slightest glimmering 
of sight. My hands were bound ; I was thus entirely 
their captive, and, in my distress of mind, submitted to 
everything. 

I observed that we were ascending for some time ; 
then we rapidly descended again; twigs and bushes 
struck me in the face ; we were upon an altogether 
unused path. At length I was made to dismount ; they 
conducted me forwards, but not a word was said ; at 
length we descended one step through a narrow open- 
ing? My soul had been too much occupied with itself 
for me to remark in what direction we had entered the 


8o 


The Improvisator e. 


mountains ; yet we could not have gone very deep into 
them. It was not till many years afterwards that the 
place became known to me ; many strangers have 
visited it, and many a painter has represented on can- 
vas its character and coloring. We were at the old 
Tusculum. Behind Frascati, where the sides of the 
hills are covered with chestnut woods and lofty laurel 
hedges, lie these ruins of antiquity. Tall white thorns 
and wild roses shoot up from the steps of the amphi- 
theatre. In many places of the mountains are deep 
caves, brick-vaults, almost concealed by a luxuriant 
growth of grass and underwood. Across the valley may 
be seen the lofty hills of Abruzzi, which bound the 
Marshes, and which give to the whole landscape a char- 
acter of great wildness, that here, amid the ruins of a 
city of antiquity, is doubly impressive. They conducted 
me through one of these openings in the mountain, 
half concealed with depending evergreen and twining 
plants. At length we came to a stand. I heard a low 
whistle ; and, immediately afterwards, the sound of a 
trap-door, or door which opened. We again descended 
some steps deeper, and I now heard several voices. 
The cloth was removed from my eyes, and I found my- 
self in a spacious vault. Large-limbed men, in sheep- 
skin cloaks, like my conductors, sat and played at cards 
around a long table, upon which burned two brass 
lamps, with many wicks, which strongly lighted up 
their dark, expressive countenances. Before them 
stood wine in great bottles. My arrival excited no 
astonishment ; they made room for me at the table, 
gave me a cup of wine, and a piece of their sausage, 
keeping up a conversation, in the meantime, in a dialect 
which I did not understand ; which seemed, however, 
to have no reference to me. 

I felt no hunger, but only a burning thirst, and drank 


The Improvisatore . 


181 


the wine. I cast my eyes around me, and saw that the 
walls were covered with arms and articles of clothing-. 
In one corner of the vault was a still deeper apart- 
ment. From its roof depended two hares, which were 
partly skinned, and beneath these I perceived yet 
another being. A meagre old woman, with a singular, 
almost youthful bearing, sat there immovably, and spun 
flax upon a hand-spindle. Her silver- white hair had 
loosened itself from the knot into which it had been 
fastened, and hung down over one cheek and round her 
yellow brown neck, and her dark eye was steadfastly 
fixed upon the spindle. She was the living image of 
one of the Parcse. Before her feet lay a quantity of 
burning wood ashes, as if they were a magical circle 
which separated her from this world. 

I did not long remain left to myself. They com- 
menced a sort of examination of me, of my condition in 
life, and of everything connected with my circumstances 
and family. I declared to them that they had already 
had all that I possessed, and that nobody in Rome, if 
they demanded a ransom for me, would give as much as 
a scudi, and that I was a poor bird, which, for a long 
time, had the intention of going to Naples, to try my 
talents as an improvisatore. I concealed not from them 
die peculiar ground of my flight, the unfortunately acci- 
dental going off of the piece, yet without explaining the 
immediate circumstances of it. 

“ The only ransom which you are likely to obtain for 
me,” added I, ‘‘is the sum which the law will give you 
for delivering me up. Do it ; for I myself, at this 
moment, have no higher wish !” 

“ That’s a merry wish !” said one of the men. “ You 
have perhaps, however, in Rome, a little girl who would 
give her gold ear-rings for your liberty. You can, 
however, improvise at Naples ; we are the men to get 


182 


The Improvisatore. 


you over the barriers. Or the ransom shall be the 
earnest money of our brotherhood ; so here is my 
hand ! You are among honorable fellows, you shall 
see ! But sleep now, and think of it afterwards. Here 
is a bed, and you shall have a coverlet which has proved 
the winter’s blast and the sirocco rain — my brown cloak 
there on the hook.” 

He threw it to me, pointed to the straw mat at the 
end of the table, and left me, singing as he went, the 
Albanian folk song, “ Discendi , ornia bettina /” 

I threw myself down on the couch, without a thought 
of repose. All that which had so agitated my soul 
seemed to me like a dream ; but the place in which I 
was, and the dark countenances around me, told me 
immediately that my recollections were reality. 

A stranger, with pistols in his girdle, and a long gray 
cloak thrown loosely over his shoulder, sat astride on 
the bench, and was in deep conversation with the other 
robbers. In the corner of the vault sat yet the old 
mulatto-colored woman, and twirled her spindle 
immovably as ever, a picture painted on a dark back- 
ground. Fresh-burning wood was laid on the floor 
before her, and gave out warmth. 

“The ball went through his side,” I heard the 
stranger say ; “ he lost some blood, but, in a few 

moments, he is again recovered.” 

“ Ei, Signore,” cried my horseman, as he again saw 
me awake ; “ a twelve-hours’ sleep is a good pillow ! 
Nay, Gregorio brings news from Rome which will cer- 
tainly please you ! You have trodden heavily on the 
train of the Senate ! Yes ; it is actually you ! All the 
circumstances agree together. You have actually shot 
the nephew of the senator ! That was a bold shot !” 

“ Is he dead ?” were the only words I could stammer 
forth. 


The Improvisator e. 


183 


“ No, not entirely !” replied the stranger, “ and per- 
haps may not die this time. At least the doctors say 
so. The foreign handsome signora, who sings like a 
nightingale, watched through the whole night by his 
bed, till the doctors assured her that he must be kept 
quiet, and that danger was over.” 

“You missed your mark,” exclaimed the other, 
“ both in regard to. his heart and hers ! Let the bird 
fly, they’ll make a pair, and you stop with us. Our life 
is merry and free. You may become a little prince ; 
and the danger of it is no greater than hangs over every 
crown. Wine you shall have, and adventures and hand- 
some girls for the one which has jilted you. Better is it 
to drink of life in copious draughts than to sip it up by 
drops.” 

“ Bernardo lives ! I am not his murderer !” This 
thought gave new life to my soul ; but my distress on 
account of Annunciata could not be alleviated. Calmly 
and resolutely I replied to the man, that they could deal 
with me as they liked, but that my nature, my whole 
education, my intentions in life, forbade me to form any 
such connection with him as he proposed. 

“ Six hundred scudi is the lowest sum for which we 
will liberate you !” said the man, with a gloomy earn- 
estness. “ If these are not forthcoming in six days, 
then you are ours, either dead or alive ! Your hand- 
some face, my kindness towards you, will avail nothing ! 
Without the six hundred scudi you will only have your 
choice between brotherhood with us, or brotherhood 
with the many who lie arm in arm, embracing in the 
well below. Write to your friend, or to the handsome 
singer ; they must both of them be grateful to you at 
bottom, for you have brought about an explanation 
between them. They will certainly pay this miserable 
sum for you. We have never let anybody go so 


184 


The Improvisator e. 


cheaply out of our inn before. Only think,” added he, 
laughing, “ your coming here cost you nothing ; and 
now, board and lodging for a whole six days, nobody 
can say that it is unreasonable.” 

My answer remained the same. 

“Perverse fellow !” said he. “ Yet I like it in thee ; 
that I will say, even if I have to put a bullet through 
thy heart. Our jolly life must, however, captivate a 
young spirit ; and thou, a poet, an improvisatore, and 
not charmed with a bold flight ! Now, if I had desired 
thee to sing 1 The Proud Strength among the Rocks/ 
must not thou have praised and cried up this life, which 
thou seemest to despise ? Drink of the cup, and let us 
hear your art. You shall describe to us that which I 
have just said — the proud struggle which the mountains 
see ; and, if you do it like a master, why, then, I’ll 
extend your time yet one day longer.” 

He reached to me a cithern from the wall ; the rob- 
bers gathered around me, demanding that I should 
sing. 

I bethought myself for some moments. I was to 
sing of the woods, of the rocks — I who, in reality, had 
never been amid them. My journey the night before 
had been made with bandaged eyes, and, during my 
abode in Rome, I had visited only the pine- woods of 
the Villa Borghese and the villa Pamfili. Mountains 
had, indeed, occupied me as a child, but only as seen 
from the hut of Domenica. The only time in which I 
had been amongst them was on that unfortunate going 
to the flower-feast at Gensano. The darkness and still- 
ness of the woods lay in the picture which my memory 
retained of our ramble under the lofty plantains by 
Lake Nemi, where we bound garlands that evening. I 
again saw all this, and ideas awoke in my soul. All 


The Improvisator e. 


i8S 


these images passed before me in one-half of the time 
which it requires me to speak of them. 

I struck a few accords, and the thoughts became 
words, and the words billowy verse. I described the 
deep calm, shut in among woods, and the cliffs which 
reared themselves high amid the clouds. In the nest 
of the eagle sat the mother-bird, and taught her young 
ones the strength of their pinions and the practice of 
their keen gaze, by bidding them look at the sun. “ You 
are the king of birds,” said she ; “ sharp is your eye, 
strong are your talons. Fly forth from your mother ; 
my glance will follow you, and my heart will sing like 
the voice of the swan when death embraces her. Sing 
will I of ‘proud strength !’ And the young ones flew 
from the nest. The one flew only to the next peak of 
the cliff and sat still, with his eye directed to the beams 
of the sun, as if he would drink in its flames ; but the 
other swung itself boldly, in great circles, high above 
the cliff and the deep-lying lake. The surface of the 
water mirrored the woody margin and the blue heaven. 
A huge fish lay still, as if he had been a reed which 
floated on its surface. Like a lightning flash darted 
the eagle down upon its prey, struck its sharp talons in 
its back, and the heart of the mother trembled for joy. 
But the fish and the bird were of equal strength. The 
sharp talon was too firmly fixed to be again withdrawn, 
and a contest began which agitated the quiet lake in 
great circles. For a moment, and it was again calm ; 
the huge wings lay outspread upon the waters, like the 
leaves of the lotus-flower ; again they fluttered aloft ; a 
sudden crack was heard — one wing swung down, whilst 
the other lashed the lake into foam, and then vanished. 
The fish and the bird sank into the deep water. Then 
was sent forth the lamenting cry of the mother, and 
she turned again her eye upon the second son, 


The Improvisatore. 


1 86 


which had rested above the cliff, and he was not 
there ; but far away, in the direction of the sun, she 
saw a dark speck ascending and vanishing in his beams. 
Her heart was agitated with joy, and she sang of the 
proud strength which only became great by the lofty 
object for which it strove !” 

My song was at an end ; a loud burst of applause 
saluted me, but my eye was arrested by the old woman. 
In the midst of my song I had indeed observed that 
she let the hand-spindle drop, riveted upon me a keen, 
dark glance, which made it exactly seem to me as if the 
scene of my childhood, which I had described in my 
song, again was renewed. She now raised herself up, 
and, advancing to me with quickening steps, exclaimed : 

“ Thou hast sung thy ransom ! the sound of music is 
stronger than that of gold ! I saw the lucky star in thy 
eye when the fish and the bird went down into the deep 
abyss to die ! Fly boldly towards the sun, my bold 
eagle ! the old one sits in her nest and rejoices in thy 
flight. Ho one shall bind thy wings !” 

“ Wise Fulvia !” said the robber who had required me 
to sing, and who now bowed with an extraordinary 
gravity to the old woman, “ dost thou know the signore ? 
Hast thou heard him improvise before now ?” 

“ I have seen the star in his eye — seen the invisible 
glory which beamed around the child of fortune ! He 
wove his garland ; he shall weave one still more 
beautiful, but with unbound hands. Dost thou think 
of shooting down my young eagle in six days, because 
he will not fix his claws into the back of the fish ? Six 
days he shall remain here in the nest and then he shall 
fly towards the sun !” 

She now opened a little cupboard in the wall, and 
took out paper, upon which she was about to write. 

“ The ink is hard,” said she, “ like the dry rock ! but 


The Improvisatore. 


187 


thou hast enough of the black moisture ; scratch thy 
hand, Cosmo, the old Fulvia thinks also on thy hap- 
piness !” 

Without saying a word, the robber took his knife, 
and, putting aside the skin, wetted the pen with the 
blood. The old woman gave it to me to write the 
words, “ I travel to Naples !” 

“ Thy name under it !” said she ; “ that is a papal 
seal !” 

“ What is the meaning of this ?” I heard one of the 
younger men say, as he cast an angry glance at the old 
woman. 

“ Does the worm talk ?” said she ; “ defend thyself 
from the broad foot that crushes thee !” 

“We confide in thy prudence, wise mother,” rejoined 
one of the elder ones ; “ thy will is the tabernacle of 
blessing and good luck !” 

No more was said. 

The former lively state of feeling returned ; the 
wine-flask circulated. They slapped me familiarly on 
the shoulder ; gave me the best piece of the venison 
which was served up ; but the old woman sat, as before, 
immovably at work with her hand-spindle, whilst one 
of the younger men laid fresh ashes at her feet, saying, 
“ Thou art cold, old mother !” 

From their conversation, and from the name by which 
they had addressed her, I now discovered that she it 
was who had told my fortune, as a child, when I, with 
my mother and Mariuccia, wove garlands by Lake 
Nemi. *1 felt that my fate lay in her hands ; she had 
made me write, “ I travel to Naples !” That was my 
own desire ; but how was I to get across the barrier 
without a passport ? how was I to maintain myself in 
this foreign city, where I knew no one ? To make my 
debut as an improvisatore, whilst I was a fugitive from 


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1 88 


a neighboring city, was a thing I dared not to do. My 
power of language, however, and a singular childish 
reliance on the Madonna, strengthened my soul ; even 
the thought of Annunciata, which dissolved into a 
strange melancholy, brought peace to my soul — a peace 
like that which descends upon the seaman, when, after 
his ship is gone down, he alone is driven in a little boat 
towards an unknown shore. 

One day after another glided on ; the men came and 
went, and even Fulvia was absent for one whole day, 
and I was alone in the cave with one of the robbers. 

This was a young man of about one-and-twenty, of 
ordinary features, but with a remarkably melancholy 
expression, which almost bordered on insanity ; this, 
and his beautiful long hair, which fell upon his 
shoulders, characterized his exterior. He sat silent for 
a long time, with his head sunk upon his arm. At 
length he turned himself to me and said, “ Thou canst 
read ; read me a prayer out of this book !” and with 
that he gave me a little prayer-book. I read, and the 
most heartfelt devotion beamed in his large, dark 
eyes. 

“ Why wilt thou leave us ?” asked he, offering me his 
hand good-naturedly ; “ perjury and falsehood dwell in 
the city as in the wood ; only in the wood one has fresh 
air and fewer people.” 

A sort of confidential feeling arose between us ; and 
whilst I shuddered at his wild manner, I was touched 
by his unhappiness. 

“ Thou knowest, perhaps,” said he, “ the legend of the 
Prince of Savelli ? of the gay wedding at Ariccia ? It 
was, to be sure, only a poor peasant and a simple 
country girl, but she was handsome, and it was her 
wedding. The rich lord of Savelli gave a dance in 
honor of the bride, and sent her an invitation to his 


The Improvisatore. 


189 


garden ; but she revealed it to her bridegroom, who 
dressed himself in her clothes, and put on her bridal 
veil, and went instead of her, and then, when the count 
would have pressed her to his breast, a dagger was 
driven into his noble heart. I knew a count and a 
bridegroom like these, only the bride was not so open- 
hearted ; the rich count celebrated the bridal night, 
and the bridegroom the feast of death with her. Her 
bosom shone like snow when the pale knife found its 
way to her heart !” 

I looked silently into his face, and had not a word 
wherewith to express my sympathy. 

“ Thou thinkest that I never knew love — never, like 
the bee, drank from the fragrant cup !” exclaimed he. 
“ There traveled a high-born English lady to Naples ; 
she had a handsome serving-maid with her — health on 
her cheek, and fire in her eyes ! My comrades compelled 
them all to dismount from the carriage, and to sit in 
silence on the ground whilst they plundered it. The 
two women, and a young man, the lover of one I fancy 
he was, we took up among the hills. By the time the 
ransom came for all three the girl’s red cheeks were 
gone, and her eyes burned less brightly ; that came 
from so much wood among the hills !” 

I turned myself from him, and, as if half to excuse 
himself, he added, “ The girl was a Protestant, a 
daughter of Satan !” 

In the evening Fulvia returned, and gave me a letter 
which she commanded me not to read. 

“ The mountains have their white paps on ; it is time 
to fly away Eat and drink, we have a long journey 
before us, and there grow no cakes upon the naked 
rocky path.” 

The young robber placed food on the table in haste, 


The Improvisator e. 


190 

of which I partook, and then Fnlvia threw a cloak over 
her shoulders, and hurried me along through dark, 
excavated passages. 

“ In the letter lie thy wings,” said she, “ not a soldier 
on the barrier shall ruffle a feather of thine, my young 
eagle ! The wishing-rod also lies beside it, which will 
afford thee gold and silver till thou hast fetched up thy 
own treasures.” 

She now divided, with her naked, thin arm, the thick 
ivy, which hung like a curtain before the entrance to the 
cavern ; it was dark night without, and a thick mist 
enwrapt the mountains. I held fast by her dress, and 
scarcely could keep up with her quick steps along the 
untrodden path in the dark ; like a spirit she went forward ; 
bushes and hedges were left behind us on either hand. 

Our march had continued for some time, and we were 
now in a narrow valley between the mountains. Not 
far from us stood a straw hut, one of those which is met 
within the Marshes, without walls, and with its roof of 
reeds down to the ground. Light shone from a chink in 
its low door. We entered, and found ourselves as if in a 
great bee-hive, but all around was quite black from the 
smoke, which had no other exit than through the low 
door. Pillars and beams, nay, even the reeds them- 
selves, were shining with the soot. In the middle of 
the floor was an elevation of brick-work, a few ells long, 
and probably half as broad ; on this lay a fire of wood ; 
here the food was cooked, and by this means, also, the 
hut was warmed. Further back was an opening in the 
wall, which led to a smaller hut, which was attached to 
the greater, just as one sees a small onion grow to the 
mother-bulb ; within this lay a woman sleeping, with 
several children. An ass poked forth his head from 
above them and looked on us. An old man, almost 
naked, with a ragged pair of drawers on made of goat- 


The Improvisator e . 


191 


skin, came towards us ; he kissed Fulvia’s hands, and 
without a word being exchanged, he threw his woollen 
skin over his naked shoulders, drew forth the ass, and 
made a sign for me to mount. 

“ The horse of fortune will gallop better than the ass 
of the Campagna,” said Fulvia. 

The peasant led the ass and me out of the hut. My 
heart was deeply moved with gratitude to the singular 
old woman, and I bent down to kiss her hand ; but she 
shook her head, and then, stroking the hair back from 
my forehead, I felt her cold kiss, saw her once more 
motioning with her hand, and the twigs and hedges hid 
us from each other. The peasant struck the ass, and 
then ran on beside him up the path ; I spoke to him ; 
he uttered a low sound and gave me, by a sign, to under- 
stand that he was dumb. My curiosity to read the letter 
which Fulvia had given me let me have no rest ; I there- 
fore drew it out and opened it. It consisted of various 
papers, but the darkness forbade me to read a single 
word, however much I strained my eyes. 

When the day dawned, we were upon the ridges of the 
mountains, where alone was to be seen naked granite, 
with a few creeping plants, and the gray-green fragrant 
artemisia. The heavens were quite clear, scattered over 
with shining stars ; a sea-like cloud world lay below us ; 
it was the Marshes which stretched themselves out from 
the mountains of Albano, between Veletri and Terracina, 
bounded by Abruzzi and the Mediterranean Sea. The 
low, wavy clouds of mist shone below us, and I quickly 
saw how the infinitely blue heaven changed to lilac, and 
then into rose color, and the mountains even became like 
bright blue velvet. I was dazzled with the pomp of 
coloring ; a fire burned upon the side of the mountain, 
which shone like a star upon the light ground. I folded 
my hands in prayer ; my head bowed itself before God 


192 


The Improvisator e. 


in the great church of nature, and silently besought, 
“ Let thy will be done !” 

The daylight was now sufficiently clear for me to see 
what my letter contained ; it was a passport in my own 
name, prepared by the Roman police, and signed by the 
Neapolitan ambassador — an order on the house of Fal- 
conet, in Naples, for five hundred scudi, and a small 
note containing the words, “ Bernardo’s life is out of 
danger ; but do not return to Rome for some months.” 

Fulvia said justly that here were my wings and wish- 
ing-rod. I was free, a sigh of gratitude arose from my 
heart. 

We soon reached a more trodden path, where some 
shepherds were sitting at their breakfasts. My guide 
stopped here ; they seemed to know him, and he made 
them understand, by signs with his fingers, that they 
should invite us to partake of their meal, which consisted 
of bread and buffalo cheese, to which they drank asses’ 
milk. I enjoyed some mouthfuls, and felt myself 
strengthened thereby. 

My guide now showed me a path, and the others 
explained to me that it led down the mountains along 
the Marshes to Terracina, which I could reach before 
evening. I must continually keep this path to the left 
of the mountains, which would, in a few hours, bring me 
to a canal which went from the mountains to the great 
highroad, the boundary trees of which I should see as 
soon as the mist cleared away. By following the canal, 
I should come out upon the highroad, just beside a 
ruined convent, where now stood an inn, called torre di 
tre ponti. 

Gladly would I have bestowed upon my guide a little 
gift ; but I had nothing. It then occurred to me that I 
still had, however, the two scudi, which were in my 
pocket when I left Rome ; I had only given up the 


The Improvisator e % 


193 


purse with the money which I had received as needful 
in my flight. Two scudi were thus, for the moment, all 
my ready money ; the one I would give to my guide, the 
other I must keep for my own wants till I reached 
Naples, where I could only avail myself of my bill. I 
felt in my pocket, but vain was all my search ; they had 
long ago taken from me all my little property. I had 
nothing at all ; I therefore took off the silk-handker- 
chief which I had round my neck, and gave it to the 
man; offered my hand to the others, and struck alone 
into the path which led down to the Marshes. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE PONTINE MARSHES TERRACINA AN OLD ACQUAINT- 
ANCE FRA DIAVOLO’S NATIVE CITY THE ORANGE- 

GARDEN AT MOLO DI GAETA THE NEAPOLITAN 

SIGNORA NAPLES. 

Many people imagine that the Pontine Marshes are 
only a dreary extent of stagnant slimy water, a melan- 
choly road to travel over ; on the contrary, the marshes 
have more resemblance to the rich plains of Lombardy ; 
yes, they are like them, rich to abundance ; grass and 
herbage grow here with a succulence and a luxuriance 
which the north of Italy cannot exhibit. 

Neither can any road be more excellent than that 
which leads through the marshes, upon which, as on a 
bowling-green, the carriages roll along between unend- 
ing alleys of lime-trees, whose thick branches afford a 
shade from the scorching beams of the sun. On each 
side the immense plain stretches itself out with its tall 


i 9 4 


The Improvisator e. 


grass, and its fresh, green marsh-plants. Canals cross 
one another, and drain off the water which stands in 
ponds and lakes covered with reeds and broad-leaved 
water-lilies. 

On the left hand in coming from Rome, the lofty hills 
of Abrazzi extend themselves, with here and there 
small towns, which, like mountain castles, shine with 
their white walls from the gray rocks. On the right, 
the green plain stretches down to the sea, where Cape 
Cicello lifts itself, now a promontory, but formerly 
Circe’s Island, where tradition lands Ulysses. 

As I went along, the mists, which began to dissipate', 
floated over the green extent where the canals shone 
like linen on a bleaching-ground. The sun glowed 
with the warmth of summer, although it was but the 
middle of March. Herds of buffaloes went through the 
tall grass. A troop of horses galloped wildly about, 
and struck out with their hind feet, so that the water 
was dashed around to a great height ; their bold atti- 
tudes, their unconstrained leaping and gambolling, 
might have been a study for an animal-painter. To the 
left I saw a dark monstrous column of smoke, which 
ascended from the great fire which the shepherds had 
kindled to purify the air around their huts. I met a 
peasant, whose pale, yellow, sicky exterior contradicted 
the vigorous fertility which the marshes presented. 
Like a dead man arisen from the grave, he rode upon 
his black horse, and held a sort of lance in his hand, 
with which he drove together the buffaloes which went 
into the swampy mire, where some of them lay them- 
selves down, and stretched forth only their dark, ugly 
heads, with their malicious eyes. 

The solitary post-houses, of three or four stories high, 
which were erected close by the road-side, showed also, 
at the first glance, the poisonous efflixvia which steamed 


The Improvisatore. 


195 


up from the marshes. The lime-washed walls were 
entirely covered with an unctuous, gray-green mould. 
Buildings, like human beings, bore here the stamp of cor- 
ruption, which showed itself in strange contrast with 
the rich luxuriance around, with the fresh verdure and 
the warm sunshine. 

My sickly soul presented to me here in nature an 
image of the false happiness of life ; thus people almost 
always see the world tfc *ough the spectacles of feeling, 
and it appears dark or rose-colored according to the hue 
of the glass through which they look. 

About an hour before the Ava Maria, I left the 
marshes behind me ; the mountains, with their yellow 
masses of rock, approached nearer and nearer, and 
close before me stood Terracina in the fertile Hes- 
perian landscape. Three lofty palm-trees, with their 
fruit, grew not far from the road. The vast orchards, 
which stretched up the mountain-sides, seemed like a 
great green carpet with millions of golden points. 
Lemons and oranges bowed the branches down to the 
ground. Before a peasant’s hut lay a quantity of 
lemons, piled together into a heap, as if they had been 
chestnuts which had been shaken down. Rosemary 
and wild dark-red gillyflowers grew abundantly in the 
crevices of the rock, high up among the peaks of the 
cliffs where stood the magnificent remains of the castle 
of the Ostrogothic king Theodoric,* and which overlook 
the city and the whole surrounding country. 

My eyes were dazzled with the beautiful picture, and, 
quietly dreaming, I entered Terracina. Before me lay 
the sea, which I now beheld for the first time — the 
wonderfully beautiful Mediterranean. It was heaven 
itself in the purest ultra-marine, which, like an immense 


♦Diderik of Born . — Author s Note. 


196 


The Improvisatore . 


plain, was spread out before me. Far out at sea I saw 
islands, like floating clouds of the most beautiful lilac 
color, and perceived Vesuvius where the dark column 
of smoke became blue in the far horizon. The surface 
of the sea seemed perfectly still, yet the lofty billows, as 
blue and clear as the ether itself, broke against the 
shore on which I stood, and sounded like thunder among 
the mountains. 

My eye was riveted like my foot ; my whole soul 
breathed rapture. It seemed as if that which was phy- 
sical within me, heart and blood, became spirit, and 
infused itself into it, that it might float forth between 
these two, the infinite sea and the heaven above it. 
Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I was compelled 
to weep like a child. 

Not far from the place where I, stood was a large 
white building, against the foundations of which the 
waves broke. Its lowest story, which lay to the street, 
consisted of an open colonnade, within which stood the 
carriages of travelers. It was the hotel of Terracina, 
the largest and the handsomest upon the whole way 
between Rome and Naples. 

The cracking of whips re-echoed from the wall of 
rocks ; a carriage with four horses rolled up to the 
hotel. Armed servants sat on the seat at the back of 
the carriage ; a pale, thin gentleman wrapped in a 
large, bright-colored dressing-gown, stretched him- 
self within it. The postillion dismounted and cracked 
his long whip several times, whilst fresh horses 
were put to. The stranger wished to proceed, but 
as he desired to have an escort over the mountains 
where Fra Diavolo and Cesari had bold descendants, he 
was obliged to wait a quarter of an hour, and now 
scolded, half in English and half in Italian, at the peo- 
ple’s laziness, and at the torments and sufferings which 


The Improvisatore. 


197 


travelers had to endure, and at length knotted up his 
pocket-handkerchief into a night-cap, which he drew on 
his head, and then throwing himself into a comer of the 
carriage, closed his eyes, and seemed to resign himself 
to his fate. 

I perceived that it was an Englishman, who already, 
in ten days, had traveled through the north and the 
middle of Italy, and in that time had made himself 
acquainted with this country ; had seen Rome in one 
day, and was now going to Naples to ascend Vesuvius, 
and then by the steam-vessel to Marseilles, to gain a 
knowledge also of the south of France, which he hoped 
to do in a still shorter time. At length eight well- 
armed horsemen arrived, the postillion cracked his 
whip, and the carriage and the out-riders vanished 
through the gate between the tall yellow rocks. 

“ With all his escort and all his weapons, he is, how- 
ever, not so safe as my strangers,” said a little, square- 
built fellow, who played with his whip. “ The English 
must be very fond of traveling ; they always go at a gal- 
lop ; they are queer birds — Santa Philomena di Napoli !” 

“ Have you many travelers in your carriage ?” 
inquired I. 

“ A heart in every corner,” replied he ; “ you see that 
makes a good four ; but in the cabriolet there is only 
one. If the Signore wishes to see Naples, that he can 
the day after to-morrow, while the sun still shines on 
Sant Elmo.” 

We soon agreed, and I was thus relieved from the 
embarrassment in which my entire want of money had 
placed me.* 


* When people travel with vetturini, they pay nothing before- 
hand ; but, on the contrary, receive money from them as an 
earnest that their honesty is to be relied upon. The vetturini also 


198 


The Improvisatore. 


“ You will perhaps wish to have earnest-money, sig- 
nore?” asked the vetturino , and held out a five-paolo 
piece between his fingers. 

“ Reserve the place for me, with board, and a good 
bed,” replied I. “ Do we set off in the morning ?” 

“Yes, if it please Saint Antonio and my horses,” said 
he, “we shall set off at three o’clock. We shall have 
twice to go to the Pass-Bureau, and three times to be 
written in the papers ; to-morrow is our hardest day.” 
With these words, he lifted his cap, and, nodding, left 
me. 

They showed me to a chamber which looked out to the 
sea, where the fresh wind blew, and the billows heaved 
themselves, presenting a picture very dissimilar to the 
Campagna, and yet its vast extent led my thoughts to 
my home there, and the old Domenica. It troubled me 
now that I had not visited her more industriously ; she 
loved me with her entire heart, and was certainly the 
only one who did so. Excellenza, Francesca, yes, they 
also had some affection for me, but it was of a peculiar 
kind. Benefits bound us together, and where these 
could not be mutual, there must always remain, between 
giver and receiver, a gulf, which years and days indeed 
might cover with the climbing-plants of devotion, but 
never could fill up. I thought upon Bernardo and 
Annunciata ; my lips tasted salt drops which came from 
my eyes ; or, perhaps, from the sea below me, for the 
billows actually dashed high upon the walls. 

Next morning, before day, I rolled with the vetturino 
and his strangers away from Terracina. We drew up 
at the frontiers just at dawn. All dismounted from the 


provide board and lodging for the whole journey. All these 
expenses are included in the agreement which is then made. — 
Author's Note . 


The Improvisatore. 


199 


carriage, while our passports were inspected. I now for 
the first time saw my companions properly. Among 
these was a man of about thirty, rather bland, and with 
blue eyes, who excited my attention ; I must have seen 
him before, but where I could not remember ; the few 
words which I heard him speak betrayed him to be a 
foreigner. 

We were detained a very long time by the passports, 
because most of them were in foreign languages, which 
the soldiers did not understand. In the meantime the 
stranger, of whom I have spoken, took out a book of 
blank paper, and sketched the place where we stood ; 
the two high towers by the gate, through which the 
road passed, the picturesque caves just by, and, in the 
background, the little town upon the mountain. 

I stepped nearer to him, and he turned my attention 
to the beautiful grouping of the goats which stood in 
the largest cave. At the same moment they sprang 
out ; a great bundle of fagots, which had lain in one of 
the lesser openings of the cave, and which served as 
door to the descent, was withdrawn, and the goats 
skipped out two and two, like the animals which went 
out of Noah’s ark. A very little peasant lad brought up 
the rear ; his little pointed hat, round which a piece of 
twine was tied, the torn stockings, and sandals, to which 
the short brown cloak, which he had thrown around 
him, gave him a picturesque appearance. The goats 
tripped up above the cave among the low bushes, whilst 
the boy, seating himself upon a piece of rock which pro- 
jected above the cave, looked at us and the painter, 
who drew him and the whole scene. 

“ Maledetto !” we heard the vetturino exclaim, and saw 
him running towards us at full speed ; there was some- 
thing amiss about our passports. “ It was certainly 
with mine,” thought I, anxiously, and the blood mounted 


200 


The Improvisatore. 


to my cheeks. The stranger scolded because of the 
ignorance of the soldiers, who could not read, and we 
followed the vetturino up into one of the towers, where 
we found five or six men half-stretched over the table, 
on which our passports lay spread out. 

<• Who is called Frederick ?” inquired one of the most 
important-looking of the men at the table. 

“ That is I,” replied the stranger, “ my name is 
Frederick, in Italian Federigo.” 

“ Thus, then, Federigo the Sixth.” 

“ Oh, no, that is my king’s name which stands at the 
top of my passport.” 

“ Indeed !” said the man, and slowly read aloud, 
“ * Frederic Six, par la grace de Dieu Roi de Danemarc, 
des Vandales, des Gothes, &c.’ But what is that?” 
exclaimed the man ; “ are you a Vandal ? they are 
actually a barbarous people !” 

“ Yes,” replied the stranger, laughing ; “ I am a 
barbarian who am come to Italy to be civilized. My 
name stands below, it is Frederick like my king’s, 
Frederick, or Federigo.” 

“ Is he an Englishman ?” asked one of the writers. 

“ Oh, no !” replied another, “ thou confoundest all 
nations together ; thou canst surely read that he is out 
of the north ; he is a Russian.” 

Federigo — Denmark — the name struck my soul like a 
flash of lightning. It was, indeed, the friend of my 
childhood ; my mother’s lodger, him with whom I had 
been into the catacombs, who had given me his beauti- 
ful silver watch, and drawn lovely pictures for me. 

The passport was correct, and the barrier soldier 
found it doubly so when a paolo was put into his hand 
that he might not any longer detain us. 

As soon as we were out again I made myself known 
to him ; it was actually he whom I supposed, our Danish 


The Improvisatore. 


201 


Federigo, who had lived with my mother. He expressed 
the most lively joy at again meeting with me, called me 
still his little Antonio. There were a thousand things 
to be inquired after, and mutually communicated. He 
induced my former neighbor in the cabriolet to 
exchange places with him, and we now sat together ; 
yet once more he pressed my hand, laughed and joked. 

I related to him in a few words the occurrences of my 
life, from the day when I went to Domenica’s hut, till 
the time when I became abbe, and then, making a great 
leap forwards, without touching upon my late adven- 
tures, ended by shortly saying, “ I now go to Naples.” 

He remembered very well the promise which he had 
made, the last time we saw each other in the Campagna, 
to take me with him for one day to Rome ; but shortly 
after that he received a letter from his native country, 
which obliged him to take the long journey home, so 
that he could not see me again. His love for Italy, 
however, in his native land, became only stronger every 
year, and at length drove him there again. 

“ And now, for the first time, I enjoy everything 
properly,” said he ; “ drink in great draughts of the 
pure air, and visit again every spot where I was before. 
Here my heart’s fatherland beckons me ; here is color- 
ing ; here is form. Italy is a cornucopia of blessing !” 

Time and the way flew on so rapidly in Federigo’s 
society, that I marked not our long detention in the 
Pass- Bureau at Fondi. He knew perfectly how to seize 
upon the poetically beautiful in everything ; he became 
doubly dear and interesting to me, and was the best 
angel of consolation for my afflicted heart. 

“ There lies my dirty Itri !” exclaimed he, and pointed 
to the city before us. “You would hardly credit it, 
Antonio, but in the north, where all the streets are so 
clean, and so regular, and so precise, I have longed for 


202 


The Improviscitore. 


a dirty Italian town, where there is something charac- 
teristic, something just for a painter. These narrow, 
dirty streets, these gray, grimy stone balconies, full of 
stockings and shirts ; windows without regularity, one 
up, one down, some great, some small, here steps four 
or five ells wide leading up to a door, where the mother 
sits with her hand spindle ; and there a lemon-tree, 
with great yellow fruit hanging over the wall. 

“ Yes, that does make a picture. But those cultivated 
streets, where the houses stand like soldiers, where 
steps and balconies are shorn away, one can make noth- 
ing at all of !” 

“ Here is the native city of Fra Diavolo !” exclaimed 
those inside the carriage, as we rolled into the narrow, 
dirty Itri, which Federigo found so picturesquely beau- 
tiful. The city lay high upon a rock beside a deep 
precipice. The principal street was in many places only 
wide enough for one carriage. 

The greater part of the first stories of the houses were 
without windows, and instead of these, a great broad 
doorway, through which one looked down as if into a 
dark cellar. Everywhere was there a swarm of dirty 
children and women, and all reached out their hands to 
beg ; the women laughed, and the children screamed 
and made faces at us. One did not dare to put one’s 
head out of the carriage, lest it should get smashed 
between it and the projecting houses, from which the 
stone balconies in some places hung out so far above us 
that it seemed as if we drove through an archway. I 
saw black walls on either hand, for the smoke found its 
way through the open doors up the sooty walls. 

“ It is a glorious city !” said Federigo, and clapped 
his hands. 

“ A robber city it is,” said the vetturino , when we had 
passed through it ; “ the police compelled one half of 


The Improvisatore. 


203 


the people to flit to quite another city behind the moun- 
tains, and brought in other inhabitants, but that helped 
nothing. All runs to weed that is planted here. But 
then poor folks must live.” 

The whole neighborhood here, upon the great highroad 
between Rome and Naples, invites to robbery. There 
are places of deep concealment on every hand, in the 
thick olive-woods, in the mountain-caves, in the walls 
of the Cyclops, and many other ruins. 

Federigo directed my attention to an isolated colossal 
wall overgrown with honeysuckle and climbing plants. 
It was Cicero’s grave ! it was here that the dagger of 
the assassin struck the fugitive, here the lips of 
eloquence became dust. 

“ The vetturino will drive us to Cicero’s villa in Mola 
di Gaeta,” said Federigo, “ it is the best hotel, and has 
a prospect which rivals that of Naples.” 

The form of the hills was most beautiful, the vegeta- 
tion most luxuriant ; presently we rolled along an 
alley of tall laurels, and saw before us the hotel which 
Federigo had mentioned. The head- waiter stood ready 
with his napkin, and waited for us on the broad steps, 
which were ornamented with busts and flowers. 

“ Excellenza, is it you ?” exclaimed he, as he assisted 
a somewhat portly lady out of the carriage. 

I noticed her ; her countenance was pretty, very 
pretty, and the jet-black eyes told me immediately that 
she was a Neapolitan. 

“ Ah, yes, it is I,” replied she ; “ here am I come with 
my waiting- woman as cicisbeo j that is my whole train — I 
have not a single man-servant with me. What do you 
think of my courage in traveling thus from Rome to 
Naples ?” 

She threw herself like an invalid on the sofa, sup- 
ported her pretty cheek upon her round little hand, and 


204 


The Improvisatore. 


began to study the list of eatables. “ Brodetto , cipollette 
facioli. You know that I cannot bear soup, else I should 
have a figure like Castello dell’ Ovo. A little animelle 
dorate , and some fennel, is enough for me ; we must 
really dine again in Santa Agatha. Ah, now I breathe 
more freely,” continued she, untying the strings of her 
cap. “ Now I feel my Neapolitan air blowing — bella 
Napoli !” exclaimed she, hastily opening the door of the 
balcony, which looked on the sea, and spreading out 
her arms she drank in great draughts of the fresh air. 

“ Can we already see Naples ?” inquired I. 

“Not yet,” replied Federigo ; “but Hesperia, 
Armida’s enchanted garden.” 

We went out into the balcony, which was built of 
stone, and looked out over the garden. What mag- 
nificence ! — richer than fancy can create to itself ! 
Below us was a wood of lemon and orange-trees which 
were overladen with fruit ; the branches bent themselves 
down to the ground* with their golden load ; cypresses 
gigantically tall as the poplars of the North of Italy, 
formed the boundary of the garden ; they seemed 
doubly dark against the clear, heaven-blue sea, which 
stretched itself behind them, and dashed its waves 
about the remains of the baths and temples of antiquity, 
outside the low wall of the garden. Ships and boats, 
with great white sails, floated into the peaceful harbor, 
around which Gaeta,* with its lofty buildings, stretches 
itself. A little mountain elevates itself above the city, 
and this is crowned with a ruin. 

My eye was dazzled with the great beauty of the 
scene. 

“ Do you see Vesuvius ? How it smokes !” said 


*There ^Eneas buried his nurse, Cajeta, after whom this city is 
called. — Author's Note , 


The Improvisatore. 


205 


Federigo, and pointed to the left, where the rocky 
coast elevated itself, like light clouds, which reposed 
upon the indescribably beautiful sea. 

With the soul of a child I gave myself up to the rich 
magnificence around me, and Federigo was as happy as 
myself. We could not resist going below under the tall 
orange-trees, and I kissed the golden fruit which hung 
upon the branches ; took from the many which lay on 
the ground, and threw them like golden balls up in the 
air, and over the sulphur-blue lake. 

“ Beautiful Italy !” shouted Federigo, triumphantly. 
“Yes, thus stood thy image before me in the distant 
North. In my remembrance blew this air which I now 
inspire with every breath I draw. I thought of thy 
olive-groves when I saw our willows ; I dreamed of the 
abundance of the oranges when I saw the golden apples 
in the peasants’ gardens, beside the fragrant clover-field; 
but the green waters of the Baltic never become blue 
like the beautiful Mediterranean ; the heavens of the 
North never become so high, or so rich in color, as the 
warm, glorious south. Its gladness was inspiration, its 
speech became poetry. 

“ What longings I had in my home !” said he ; “ they 
are happier who have never seen Paradise, than they, 
who, having seen it, are driven forth, never to return. 
My home is beautiful ; Denmark is a flowery garden, 
which can measure itself with anything on the other 
side the Alps ; it has beech-woods and the sea. But 
what is earthly beauty compared with heavenly ? Italy 
is the land of imagination and beauty ; doubly happy 
are they who salute it for the second time !” 

And he kissed, as I had done, the golden oranges ; 
tears ran down his cheeks, and throwing himself on my 
neck, his lips burned on my forehead. With this my 
heart opened itself to him entirely ; he was not indeecl 


206 


The Improvisatore . 


a stranger to me, he was the friend of my childhood. I 
related to him my life’s last great adventure, and felt 
my heart lighter by the communication, by speaking 
Annunciata’s name aloud ; by telling of my suffering 
and my misfortune, and Federigo listened to me with 
the sympathy of an honest friend. I told him of my 
flight, of my adventure in the robber’s cave ; ot Fulvia, 
and what I knew of Bernardo’s recovery. He offered 
me his hand with the truest friendliness, and looked, 
with his light blue eyes, sympathizingly into my soul. 

A suppressed sigh was heard close to us behind the 
hedge ; but the tall laurels and the orange-branches, 
bowed down with their fruit, concealed all ; any one 
might very well have stood there and heard every word 
I said ; of that I had not thought. We turned the 
branches aside, and close beside us, before the entrance 
to the ruins of Cicero’s bath, sat the Neapolitan Sig- 
nora, bathed in tears. 

“ Ah, young gentleman,” exclaimed she ; “ I am 
entirely guiltless of this. I was sitting here already 
when you came with your friend, it is so charming here, 
and so cool. You talked so loud, and I was in the 
middle of your history before I remarked that it was 
quite a private affair. You have affected me deeply. 
You shall have no cause to repent that I have become 
privy to it ; my tongue is as dumb as the dead.” 

Somewhat embarrassed, I bowed before the strange 
Signora, who had thus become acquainted with my 
heart’s history. At length Federigo sought to console 
me by saying that nobody knew to what it might lead. 

“ I am,” said he, “ a real Turk in my reliance on fate 
besides, after all, there are no state secrets in the whole 
of it ; every heart has, in its archives, such painful 
memoirs. Perhaps it was her own youth’s history 
which she heard in yours ; I can believe it, for people 


The Improvisatore . 


207 


have seldom tears for other’s troubles, excepting when 
they resemble their own. We are all egotists, even in 
our greatest sufferings and anxieties.” 

We were soon again in the carriage, rolling on our 
way. The whole country round us was of a luxuriant 
character ; the broad-leaved aloe grew close by the 
road to the height of a man, and was used as a fence. 
The large weeping willow seemed to kiss, with its 
depending, ever-moving branches, its own shadow upon 
the ground. 

Towards sunset we crossed the river Garigliano, 
where formerly stood the old Mintura ; it was the yel- 
low Liris, which I saw overgrown with reeds, as when 
Marius concealed himself here from the cruel Sylla. 
But we were yet a long way from Santa Agatha. 

The darkness descended, and the Signora became 
extremely uneasy on account of robbers, and looked out 
continually to see that nobody cut away the luggage 
from behind the carriage. In vain the vetturino cracked 
his whip, and repeated ' his maledetto , for the dark night 
advanced faster than he did. At length we saw lights 
before us. We were at Santa Agatha, 

The Signora was wonderfully silent at supper ; but it 
did not escape me how much her eye rested upon me. 
And the next morning, before our journey, when I 
went to drink my glass of coffee,* she came up to me 
with great amiability. We were quite alone ; she 
offered me her hand, and said, good-humoredly and 
familiarly — 

“ You do not bear any ill-will towards me ? I am 
perfectly ashamed before you, and yet I am quite guilt- 
less of the whole thing.” 


* In Italy, people do not drink their coffee in cups, but in wine- 
glasses. — Author's Note. 


208 


The Improvisatore. 


I prayed her to make herself easy, and assured her 
that I had the greatest confidence in her womanly 
spirit. 

“Yet you know nothing of me,” said she, “ but you 
may do ; probably my husband can be useful to you in 
the great foreign city. You can visit me and him. 
You, perhaps, have no acquaintance ; and a young man 
can so easily make an error in his choice.” 

I thanked her heartily for her sympathy. It affected 
me. One, however, meets with good people every- 
where. 

“ Naples is a dangerous city !” said she ; but Federigo 
entered, and interrupted us. 

We were soon again seated in the carriage. The 
glass windows were put down ; we became all better 
acquainted as we approached our common goal — Naples. 
Federigo was enraptured with the picturesque groups 
which we met. Women, with red cloaks turned over 
their heads, rode past on asses, a young child at the 
breast, or sleeping with an elder one in the basket at 
their feet. A whole family rode upon one horse ; the 
wife behind the husband, and rested her arm or her 
head against his shoulder, and seemed to sleep ; the man 
had before him his little boy, who sat and played with 
the whip. It was such a group as Pignelli has given in 
his beautiful scenes out of the life of the people. 

The air was gray, it rained a little ; we could neither 
see Vesuvius nor Capri. The corn stood juicy and 
green in the field under the tall fruit-trees and poplars, 
round which the vines enwreathed themselves. 

“ Do you see,” said the Signora, “ our Campagna is a ■ 
table well spread with bread, fruit, and wine ; and you 
will soon see our gay city and our swelling sea.” 

Towards evening we approached it. The splendid 
Toledo street lay before us ; it was really a corso. On 


The Improvisatore . 


209 


every hand were illumined shops ; tables which stood in 
the street, laden with oranges and figs, were lit up by 
lamps and gaily-colored lanterns. The whole street, 
with its innumerable lights in the open air, looked like 
a stream sprinkled over with stars. On each side stood 
lofty houses, with balconies before every window, nay, 
often quite round the corner, and within these stood 
ladies and gentlemen, as if it were still a merry carnival. 
One carriage passed another, and the horses slipped on 
the smooth slabs of lava with which the street was 
paved. Now a little cabriolet on two wheels came by ; 
from five ;o six people sat in the little carriage, ragged 
lads stood behind it, and beneath in the shaking net, lay 
quite snugly a half -naked lazzarone. One single horse 
drew the whole crowd, and yet it went at a gallop. 
There was a fire kindled before a corner-house, before 
which lay two half-naked fellows, clad only in drawers, 
and with the vest fastened with one single button, who 
played at cards. Hand-organs and hurdy-gurdies were 
playing, to which women were singing ; all were scream- 
ing, all running one among another — soldiers, Greeks, 
Turks, and English. I felt myself transported into 
quite another world ; a more Southern life than that 
'which I had known breathed around me. The Signora 
clapped her hands at the sight of her merry Naples. 
“ Rome,” she said, “ was a grave beside her laughing 
city.” 

We turned into the Largo del Castello, one of the 
largest squares in Naples, which leads down to the sea, 
and the same noise and the same crowd met us here. 
Around us we saw illuminated theatres, on the outside 
of which were bright pictures, which represented the 
principal scenes of the pieces which were being per- 
formed within. Aloft, on a scaffold, stormed a Bajazzo 
family. The wife cried out to the spectators ; the hus- 


2 10 


The hnprovisa tore. 


band blew the trumpet, and the youngest son beat them 
both with a great riding-whip, whilst a little horse stood 
upon its hind-legs in the back-scene, and read out of an 
open book. A man stood and fought and sang in the 
midst of a crowd of sailors, who sat in a corner ; he was 
an improvisatore. An old fellow read aloud, out of a 
book, Orlando Furioso, as I was told ; his audience were 
applauding him just as we passed by. 

“ Monte Vesuvio !” cried the Signora ; and I now saw, 
at the end of the street, where the light-house stood, 
Vesuvius, lifting itself high in the air, and the fire-red 
lava, like a stream of blood, rolling down from its side. 
Above the crater hung a cloud, shining red from the 
reflected glow of the lava ; but I could only see the 
whole for a moment. The carriage rolled away with us 
across the square to the Hotel Casa Tedesca. Close 
beside this stood a little puppet theatre, and a still 
smaller one was erected before it, where Punchinello 
made his merry leaps, peeped, twirled himself about, and 
made his funny speeches. All around was laughter. 
Only very few paid attention to the monk who stood at 
the opposite corner, and preached from one of the pro- 
jecting stone steps. An old broad-shouldered fellow, 
who looked like a sailor, held the cross, on which was* 
the picture of the Redeemer. The monk cast flaming 
glances at the wooden theatre of the puppets, which 
drew the attention of the people away from his speech. 

“ Is this Lent !” I heard him say. “ Is this the time 
consecrated to Heaven ? the time in which we should, 
humbled in the flesh, wander in sackcloth and in ashes ? 
Carnival-time is it ? Carnival always, night and day, 
year out and year in, till you post down into the depths 
of hell ! There you can twirl, there you can grin, can 
dance, and keep festino in the eternal pool and torment 
of hell !” 


The Improvisatore . 


21 1 


His voice raised itself more and more ; the soft Nea- 
politan dialect rung in my ear like swaying verse, and 
the words melted melodiously one into another. But 
all the more his voice ascended, ascended also that of 
Punchinello, and he leaped all the more comically, and 
was all the more applauded by the people ; then the 
monk, in a holy rage, snatched the cross from the hand 
of the man who bore it, rushed forward with it, and, 
exhibiting the crucified, exclaimed, “ See, here is the 
true Punchinello ! Him shall you see, him shall you 
hear ! For that you shall have eyes and ears ! Kyrie, 
eleison !” and impressed by the holy sign, the whole 
crowd dropped upon their knees, and exclaimed with 
one voice, “ Kyrie, eleison !” Even the puppet-player 
let fall his Punchinello. I stood beside our carriage, 
wonderfully struck by the scene. 

Federigo hastened to obtain a carriage to take the Sig- 
nora to her home. She extended her hand to him, with 
her thanks ; then, throwing her arm around my neck, I 
felt a. warm kiss upon my lips, and heard her say, “ Wel- 
come to Naples !” And from the carriage which con- 
veyed her away, she waved kisses with her hand, and we 
ascended to the chamber in the hotel which the waiter 
assigned to us. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

PAIN AND CONSOLATION — NEARER ACQUAINTANCE WITH 

THE SIGNORA THE LETTER — HAVE I MISUNDERSTOOD 

HER? 

After Federigo was in bed, I continued sitting in the 
open balcony, which looked into the street, with Vesuvius 
before me. The extraordinary world, in which I seemed 
to be as in a dream, forbade me to sleep. By degrees it 
became more and more quiet in the street below me ; 
the lights were extinguished ; it was already past mid- 
night. My eye rested upon the mountain, where the 
pillar of fire raised itself up from the crater, towards the 
blood-red, broad mass of cloud, which, united to this, 
seemed like a mighty pine-tree of fire and flame ; and 
lava streams were the roots with which it embraced the 
mountain. 

My soul was deeply impressed by this great spectacle 
— the voice of God, which spoke from the volcano, as 
from the still silent night-heaven. It was one of those 
moments which occur now and then, when, so to say, 
the soul stands face to face with its God. I compre- 
hended something of His omnipotence, wisdom, and 
goodness — comprehended something of Him whose ser- 
vants are the lightning and the whirlwind ; yet, with- 
out whose permission not even a sparrow falls to the 


The Improvisatore. 


213 


earth. My own life stood clearly before me ; I saw in 
the whole a wonderful guiding and directing ; every 
misfortune even, and every sorrow, had brought about 
a change for the better. The unhappy death of my 
mother by the runaway horses, whilst I stood a poor 
helpless child, seemed to shape out for me a better 
future ; for was not perhaps the peculiar and nobler 
reason which afterwards induced Excellenza to take 
charge of my bringing up, the circumstance of his hav- 
ing been the innocent cause of my misfortune ? The 
strife between Mariuccia and Peppo, the fearful 
moments which I passed in his house, drove me out 
upon the stream of the world ; for unless I had dwelt 
with old Domenica, on the dreary Campagna, the atten- 
tion of Excellenza had perhaps never been directed to 
me. 

Thus I reviewed, in thought, scene after scene of my 
life, and found the highest wisdom and goodness in the 
chain of events ; nor was it until I came to that last 
link, that all seemed to fall asunder. My acquaintance 
with Annunciata was like a spring day, which in a 
moment had expanded every flower-bud in my soul 
With her I could have become everything ; her love 
would have perfected the happiness of my life. Ber- 
nardo’s sentiment towards her was not pure like mine ; 
even had he suffered for a moment by losing her, his 
pain would have been short ; he would soon have 
learned to console himself ; but that Annunciata loved 
him annihilated all my life’s happiness. Here I com- 
prehended not the wisdom of the Almighty, and felt 
nothing but pain, because of all my vanished dreams. At 
that moment a cithern sounded under the balcony ; and 
I saw a man with a cloak thrown over his shoulders, 
who touched the strings, from which trembled notes of . 
love. Shortly afterwards, the door of the opposite 


214 


The Improvisatore, 


house opened quite softly, and the man vanished behind 
it — a happy lover who went to kisses and embraces. 

I looked up to the star-bright air — to the brilliant 
dark blue sea which gleamed redly with the reflected 
light of the lava and the eruption. 

“ Glorious nature !” burst forth from my heart. 
“ Thou art my mistress ! Thou claspest me to thy 
heart — .openest me to thy heaven, and thy breath kisses 
me on my lips and brow ! Thee will I sing, thy beauty, 
thy holy greatness ! I will repeat before the people the 
deep melodies which thou singest in my soul ! Let my 
heart bleed ; the butterfly which struggles upon the 
needle becomes most beautiful ; the stream which, 
hurled as a waterfall from the rock, scatters itself in 
foam, is more glorious ! — that is the poet’s lot. Life is, 
indeed, only a short dream. When in that other world 
I again meet Annunciata, she will also love me. All 
pure souls love one another ; arm in arm the blessed 
spirits advance towards God !” 

Thus dreamed my thoughts ; and courage and power 
to come forth as an improvisatore, as well as a strong 
delight in so doing, filled my soul. One thing alone lay 
heavily on my heart — what would Francesca and Excel - 
lenza say to my flight from home, and my debut as 
improvisatore ! They believed me industriously and 
quietly occupied with my books in Rome. This con- 
sciousness allowed me to have no rest ; I determined, 
therefore, that same night to write to them. 

With filial confidence, I related to them everything 
which had occurred, every single circumstance — my love 
for Annunciata, and the consolation which alone I found 
in nature and in art ; and concluded with an urgent 
prayer for an answer, as favorable as their hearts could 
give me ; nor before I obtained this would I take one 


The Improvisatore. 


215 


step, or come forward in public. Longer than a month 
they must not let me languish. 

My tears fell upon the letter as I wrote it, but I felt 
relieved by it ; and when I had ended it, I quickly slept 
more soundly and calmly than I had done for a long 
time. 

The following day, Federigo and I arranged our 
affairs. He removed into a new lodging in one of the 
side-streets. I remained at the Casa Tedesca, where I 
could see Vesuvius and the sea, two world's wonders 
which were new to me. I industriously visited the 
Museo Bourbonico , the theatres and the promenades ; and 
during three days’ residence in the foreign city, had 
made myself very well acquainted with it. 

An invitation for Federigo and me came from Pro- 
fessor Maretti, and his wife Santa. At the first moment, 
I believed this to be a mistake, as I knew neither the 
one nor the other, and yet the invitation seemed to 
have particular reference to me ; I was to bring Fed- 
erigo with me. On inquiry, I found that Maretti was a 
very learned man, an antiquarian ; and that Signora 
Santa had lately returned home from a visit in Rome. 
I and Federigo had made her acquaintance on the jour- 
ney. Thus then she was the Neapolitan Signora. 

In the course of the evening, Federigo and I went. 
We found a numerous company in a well-lighted saloon, 
the polished marble floor of which reflected the lights ; 
whilst a large scaldmo, with a loose iron grating, dif- 
fused a mild warmth. 

Signora, or, as we now indeed know her name, Santa, 
met us with open arms. Her light blue silk dress was 
very becoming to her ; had she not been so stout, she would 
have been very lovely. She introduced us to her com- 
pany, and prayed us to make ourselves quite at home. 

“ Into my house,” said she, “ enter none but friends ; 


The Improvisatore . 


216 


yon will soon become acquainted with them all.” With 
this she mentioned several names, pointing to different 
persons. 

“We talk, wo dance, we have a little singing,” said 
she, “ and so the time flies on.” 

She pointed out seats to us. A young lady was seated 
at the piano, and sung ; it was precisely the same aria 
which Annunciata had sung in Dido ; but it sounded 
with quite another expression, and seized upon the soul 
with a much less powerful effect. Yet I was compelled 
with the rest, to applaud the singer ; and now she 
struck a few accords, and played a lively dance ; two or 
three gentlemen took their ladies, and floated over the 
polished, smooth floor. I withdrew myself into a win- 
dow ; a little half-famished looking man, with evei- 
movmg, giassy eyes, bowed himself deeply before me. 
I had remarked him, like a little kobold, incessantly 
popping in and out of the door. In order to get up a 
conversation, I began to speak of the eruption of Vesu- 
vius, and how beautiful the lava-stream was. 

* That is nothing, my friend,” replied he, “ nothing to 
the great revolution of 96, which Pliny describes ; then 
the ashes flew as far as Constantinople. We have also, 
in my time, gone with umbrellas in Naples, because of 
the ashes ; but between Naples and Constantinople 
there is a difference. The classical time excelled us in 
everything — a time in which we should have prayed, 
‘ Serus in ccelum redeas /’ ” 

I spoke of the theatre of San Carlo ; and the man 
went back to the car of Thespis, and gave me a treatise 
on the tragic and comic Muses. I dropped a word 
about the mustering of the royal troops ; and he imme- 
diately went into the ancient mode of warfare, and com- 
manding of the whole phalanx. The only question 
which he himself asked me, was whether I studied the 


The Improvisatore. 


217 


history of art, and gave myself up to antiquities. I 
said that the whole world’s life, everything lay near to 
my heart ; that I felt called upon to be a poet ; and the 
man then clapped his hands, and began to declaim 
about my lyre — 

“ O decus Phoebi, et dapibus supremi 
Grata testudo Jovis !” 

“ Has he now got hold of you ?” said Santa, laughing, 
and coming up to us ; “ then are you already deep in 
Sesostris’ age. But your own times have demands upon 
you ; there sit ladies on the opposite side with whom you 
must dance.” 

“ But I do not dance ; never did dance,” replied I. 

“ But if I,” said she, “ the lady of the house, were to 
ask you to dance with me, you would not refuse.” 

“ Yes, indeed ; for I should dance so badly that we 
should both of us fall on the smooth floor.” 

“ A beautiful idea !” exclaimed she, and skipped 
across to Federigo, and soon were they two floating 
through the room. 

“ A lively woman !” said the husband, and added, 
“ and handsome, very handsome, Signor Abbe.” 

“Very handsome,” replied I, politely, and then we 
were, Heaven knows how, deep in the Etruscan Vases. 
He offered himself as my guide in the Museo Bour- 
bonico, and explained to me what great masters they 
had been who had painted these brittle treasures, in 
which every line contributed to the beauty of the 
figures in expression of attitude, and who were obliged 
to paint them whilst the clay was warm, it not being 
possible to rub anything out, whilst, on the contrary, 
every line which had once been made must remain 
there. 


2 1 8 


The Improvisator e . 


“ Are you yet deep in history?” inquired Santa, who 
again came up to us ; “ the consequence then follows !” 
exclaimed she, laughing, and drew me away from the 
pedant, whilst she whispered, half aloud, “ Do not let 
my husband annoy you ! You must be gay, must take 
part in the gaiety ! I will seat you here ; you shall 
relate to me what you have seen, heard, and enjoyed.” 

I then told her how much Naples pleased me ; told 
her of that which had given me most delight ; of a little 
trip I had this afternoon made through the grotto of 
Posilippo, besides which I had discovered, in a thick 
vine-grove, the ruins of a little church, which had been 
converted into a family dwelling, whilst the friendly 
children, and the handsome woman who had served me 
with wine, had greatly contributed to make it all only 
the more romantic. 

“ Then you have been making acquaintances ?” said 
she, laughing, and lifting her forefinger ; “ nay, there is 
no need for you to be confused about it ; at your age 
the heart does not amuse itself with a Lent sermon.” 

This was about all that I learned this evening of Signora 
Santa and her husband. There was a something in her 
manner, that expressed itself in her ease, a naivete pecu- 
liar to the Neapolitans, a cordiality which wonder- 
fully attracted me to her. Her husband was erudite, 
and that was no fault ; he would be the best guide for 
me in the Museum. And so he was ; and Santa, whom 
I often visited, became to me more and more attractive. 
The attentions which she showed to me flattered me, 
and her sympathy opened my heart and my lips. I 
knew but very little of the world, was in many things a 
complete child, and grasped, therefore, the first hand 
which extended itself kindly towards me, and, in 
return for a hand-pressure, gave my whole confidence. 

One day, Signora Santa touched upon the most 


The Improvisator e . 


219 

important moment of my life, my separation from 
Annunciata, and I found consolation and relief in speak- 
ing freely of it to the sympathizing lady. That she 
could see many faults in Bernardo, after I had given a 
description of him, was a sort of consolation to me ; but 
that she could also find failings in Annunciata I could 
not pardon. 

“ She is too small for the stage,” said she, “ altogether 
too slenderly made ; that certainly you will concede to 
me ! Some substance there must be as long as we 
belong to this world. I know to be sure, right well, 
that here in Naples all the young men were captivated 
by her beauty. It was the voice, the incomparably fine 
voice, which transported them into the spirit-world, 
where her fine form had its abode. If I were a man, I 
should never fall in love with such a being ; I should 
actually fear her falling to pieces at my first embrace.” 

She made me smile, and that, perhaps, thought I, was 
her intention. To Annunciata’s talent, mind, and pure 
heart, she did the fullest justice. 

During the last evening, inspired by the beauty of the 
surrounding country and my own excited state of feel- 
ing, I had written some short poems, “ Tasso in Cap- 
tivity,” “The Begging Monk,” and some other little 
lyrical pieces, which perfectly expressed my unhappy 
love, and the shattered picture-world which floated in 
my soul. I began to read them to Santa, but in the 
middle of the first my feelings, which I had there 
described, so entirely overpowered me, that I burst into 
tears ; with that, she pressed my hand and wept 
with me. 

With these tears she bound me forever ! 

Her house became to me a home. I regularly longed 
for the hour when I should again converse with her. 
Her humor, the comical ideas which she often started, 


220 


The Improvisatore. 


made me frequently laugh, although I was compelled 
to feel how very different was Annunciata’s wit and 
merriment— how much nobler and purer ; but then, as 
no Annunciata lived for me, I was grateful and devoted 
to Santa. 

“ Have you lately,” she asked me one day, “ seen the 
handsome woman, near Posilippo, and the romantic 
house which is half a church ?” 

“ Only once since,” I replied. 

“ She was very friendly ?” inquired Santa, “ the chil- 
dren were gone out as guides, and the husband was on 
the lake ? Take care of yourself, Signore ; on that side 
of Naples lies the under- world !” 

I honestly assured her that nothing but the romantic 
scenery drew me towards the grotto of Posilippo. 

“ Dear friend,” said she, confidentially, “ I know the 
thing better ! Your heart was full of love, of the first 
strong love to her, whom I will not call unworthy, but 
who, however, did not act openly towards you ! Do not 
say one word to me against this : she occupied your 
soul, and you have torn yourself from this image — have 
given her up, as you yourself have assured me, and 
therefore there is a vacancy in your soul which craves 
to be filled. Formerly you lived alone in your books 
and your dreams ; the singer has drawn you down into 
the world of human life ; you are become flesh aud 
blood, like the rest of us, and these assert their right. 
And why should they not ? I never judge a young 
man with severity ; and besides this, they can act as 
they will 1” 

I objected to this last assertion, but as to the desola- 
tion which remained in my soul after the loss of Annun- 
ciata, she was right in that ; but what could supply the 
place of that lost image ? 

“You are not like other people!” continued she; 


The Improvisatore . 


221 


“ you are a poetical being ; and do you see, even the 
ideal Annunciata required something more of a realist ; 
for that reason she preferred Bernardo, who was so 
much inferior to you in soul. But,” added she, “ you 
beguile me to talk to you as it is hardly becoming for 
me, as a lady, to do ; your wonderful simplicity and 
your little knowledge of the world make one become as 
' naive in speech as you are in thoughts and with this 
she laughed aloud and patted me on the cheek. 

In the evening, when I sat alone with Federigo, and 
he became merry and confidential, he told me of the 
happy days which he had spent in Rome, in which his 
heart also had beaten strongly ; Mariuccia had played 
her part in these adventures. 

Many young men came to the house of the Professor 
Marietti ; they danced well, talked excellently in com- 
pany, received glances of favor from the ladies, and 
were esteemed by the men. I had known them but for 
a short time, and yet they confided to me already their 
hearts’ affairs, which I shrunk from doing, even with 
Bernardo, and which only my ingrained affection for 
him made me tolerate in him ! Yes, they were all dif- 
ferent from me. Was Santa actually right ? should I 
be only a poetical being in this world ? That Annun- 
ciata really loved Bernardo was a sufficient proof 
thereof ; my spiritual / was perhaps dear to her, but I 
myself could not win her. 

I had now been a month in Naples, and yet had heard . 
nothing either of her or of Bernardo. At that time the 
post brought me a letter ; I seized it with a throbbing 
heart, looked at the seal and direction to divine of its 
contents. I recognized the Borghese arms and the old 
Excellenza’s hand-writing. I hardly dared to open it. 

“ Eternal mother of God !” I prayed, “ be gracious to 
me ! Thy will directs all things for the best !” 


222 


The Improvisatore . 


I opened the letter and read : 

“ Signore — Whilst I believed that you were availing 
yourself of the opportunity which I afforded to you of 
learning something, and of becoming a useful member 
of society, all is going on quite otherwise ; quite differ- 
ently to my intentions regarding you. As the innocent 
occasion of your mother’s death, have I done this for 
you. We are quits. 

“ Make your debut as improvisatore, as poet, when 
and how you will, but give me this one proof of your 
so-much-talked-of gratitude, never to connect my name, 
my solicitude for you, with your public life. The very 
great service which you might have rendered me by 
learning something, you would not render ; the very 
small one of calling me benefactor is so repugnant to 
me, that you cannot do anything more offensive to me 
than to do that !” 

The blood stagnated at my heart ; my hands dropped 
powerless on my knees ; but I could not weep ; that 
would have relieved my soul. 

“Jesus Maria !” stammered I ; my head sank down 
on the table. Deaf, without thought, without pain 
even, I lay immovably in this position. I had not a 
word with which to pray to God and the saints ; they 
also, like the world, seemed to have forsaken me. 

At that moment Federigo entered. 

“Art thou ill, Antonio?” asked he, pressing my 
hand ; “ one must not thus wall one’s self in so with one’s 
grief. Who knows whether thou wouldst have been 
happy with Annunciata? That which is best for us 
always happens ; that I have found more than once, 
although not in the most agreeable way.” 

Without a word I handed to him the letter, which he 


The Improvisatore . 


223 


read ; in the meantime my tears formed a free course, 
but I was ashamed to let him see me weeping 1 , and 
turned away from him, but he pressed me in his arms 
and said : “ Weep freely ; weep all thy grief out, and 
then thou wilt be better.” 

When I was somewhat calmer, he inquired from me 
whether I had taken any resolve. A thought then 
passed through my soul ; I would reconcile the 
Madonna to me, to whose service I was dedicated as a 
child ; in her had I found a protector, and my future 
belonged to her. 

“ It is best,” said I, “ that I become a monk ; for that 
my fate has prepared me ; there is nothing more for 
me in this world. I am besides that only a poetical 
being, not a man, like the rest of you ! Yes, in the 
bosom of the Church is a home and peace for me !” 

“ Be reasonable, however, Antonio !” said Federigo 
to me. “ Let Excellenza, let the world see that there is 
power in thee, let the adverse circumstances of life 
elevate and not depress thee. I think and hope, how- 
ever, that thou wilt only be a monk for this evening, 
to-morrow when the sun shines warmly into thy heart, 
thou wilt not be one. Thou art really an improvisatore, 
a poet, and hast soul and knowledge. Everything will 
be glorious, excellent. To-morrow we will take a 
cabriolet, and drive to Herculaneum and Pompeii, and 
will ascend Vesuvius. We have not been there ; thou 
must be amused and brought again into humor, and 
when all the dark fumes are dissipated, then we will 
talk about the future quite rationally. Now thou goest 
with me to the Toledo ; we will amuse ourselves. Life 
speeds on at a gallop, and all of us have, like the snail, 
our burden upon our backs, it matters not whether of 
lead or mere playthings, if they are alike oppressive.” 

His solicitude for me affected me; I was still sup- 


224 


The Improvisatorc. 


ported by a friend. Without a word I took my hat and 
followed him. 

Music was merrily sounding in the square from one 
of the little wooden theatres ; we remained standing 
before it among a great crowd of people. The whole 
artistic family stood as usual upon the stage ; the man 
and woman, in gay clothes, hoarse with shouting ; a pale 
little boy, with a care-depressed countenance, and in a 
white dress, stood and played upon the violin, whilst 
two little sisters twirled about in a lively dance. The 
whole thing appeared to me very tragical. 

“ The unhappy beings !” thought I, “ uncertain as 
theirs, lies also my fate.” I linked my arm closely 
in Federigo’s, and could not repress the sigh which 
ascended from my breast. 

“Now be calm and rational,” whispered Federigo. 
“ First of all, we will take a little walk to let the wind 
blow on thy red eyes, and then we will visit Signora 
Maretti ; she will either laugh thee quite gay again, or 
else weep with thee, till thou art tired ; she can do that 
better than 1 can.” 

Thus for some time we wandered up and down the 
great street, and then went to the house of Maretti. 

“At length you are come one evening out of the 
common course,” exclaimed Santa kindly, as we entered. 

“ Signor Antonio is in his elegiac mood ; it must be 
removed by mirth, and to whom could I bring him 
better than to you ? To-morrow we drive to Hercula- 
neum and Pompeii, ascend Vesuvius ; if we could only 
be blessed with an eruption.” 

“ Carpe diem,” broke forth from Maretti. “ I should 
delight to make the journey with you; but not to 
ascend Vesuvius, only to see how it goes with the exca- 
vations in Pompeii. I have just received from there 
some little glass ornaments of various colors ; these I 






The Improvisatore . 


225 


have arranged according to their shades, and have 
within an opusculnm on them. You must see these 
treasures,” said he, turning to Federigo, “ and give me 
a hint with regard to color. “ And you,” continued he, 
clapping me on the shoulder, “you shall begin to be 
merry, and then afterwards we will empty a glass of 
Falemian, and sing with Horace — 

“ Ornatus viridi tempora pampino, 

Liber vota bonos ducit ad exitus.” 

I remained alone with Santa. 

“ Have you written anything lately ?” inquired she. 
“ You look as if you had been composing one of those 
beautiful pieces which so wonderfully speak to the 
heart. I have thought many times on you and your 
Tasso, and have felt myself quite pensive, although you 
very well know that I do not belong to the weeping 
sisterhood. Be now in a good humor. Look at me ; 
you say nothing complimentary ; you see nothing, say 
nothing about my new dress. See how becoming it is ; 
a poet must have an eye for everything. I am slender 
as a pine ; regularly thin ! Is it not so ?” 

“ That one sees immediately,” was my reply. 

“ Flatterer !” interrupted she, “ am I not as usual ? 
My dress hangs quite loosely upon me ! Now what is 
thereto blush about? You are, however, a man ? We 
must have you more in women’s society, and thus edu- 
cate you a little ; that we can do excellently. Now sit 
down, my husband and Federigo are up to the ears m 
their blessed antiquity ; let us live for the present ; one 
has much more enjoyment in that ! You shall taste 
our excellent Falernian wine, and that directly ; you 
can drink of it again with the other two.” 

I refused, and attempted to begin an ordinary con- 


226 


The Improvisatore. 


versation on the events of the day ; but I found, only 
too plainly, how abstracted I was. 

“ I am only a burden to you,” said I, rising, and 
about to take my hat. “ Pardon me, Signora ; I am not 
well, and that it is which makes me unsociable.” 

“ You will not leave me ?” said she, drawing me back 
to my chair, and looking sympathizingly and anxiously 
into my face. “ What has happened ? Have confidence 
in me. I mean it so honestly and so kindly towards 
you ! Do not let my petulance wound you. It is only 
my nature. Tell me what has happened ; have you 
had letters ? Is Bernardo dead ?” 

“ No, God be praised,” returned I ; “it is another 
thing, quite another.” 

I wished not to have spoken of Excellenza’s letter ; 
yet in my distress I disclosed everything to her quite 
open heartedly, and with tears in her eyes she besought 
me not to be troubled. 

“ I am thrust out of the world,” said I, “ forsaken by 
every one ; nobody — nobody at all loves me.” 

“Yes, Antonio,” exclaimed she, “you are loved. 
You are handsome ; you are good ; my husband loves 
you, and I love you ;” and with these words I felt a 
burning kiss upon my brow, her arm clasped my neck, 
and her cheek touched mine. 

My blood became like flame, a trembling went 
through my limbs ; it was as if my breath stood still ; 
never had I felt so before ; the door opened, and 
Federigo and Maretti entered. 

“Your friend is ill,” said she, in her usual tone ; “he 
has almost terrified me. Pale and red in one moment ; 
I thought he would have fainted in my arms, but now he 
is better ; is it not so, Antonio ?” 

And then, as if nothing had happened, as if nothing 
had been said, she jested about me. I felt my own heart 


The Improvisator e. 


227 


beat, and a feeling of shame and indignation arose in 
my soul ; I turned from her, the beautiful daughter of 
sin. 

“ Quce sit hiems Valice , quod caelum , Vala Salerni /” said 
Maretti. “ How is it with heart and head, Signor ? 
What has he now done, the ferus Cupido , who always 
sharpens the bloody arrow on the glowing whetstone ?” 

The Falemian wine sparkled in the glass. Santa 
clinked her glass against mine, and said, with an 
extraordinary expression, “ To better times !” 

“ To better times !” repeated Federigo ; “ one must 
never despair.” 

Maretti touched his glass to mine also, and nodded, 
“ To better times !” 

Santa laughed aloud, and stroked my cheek. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

RAMBLE THROUGH HERCULANEUM AND POMPEII THE 

EVENING ON VESUVIUS. 

The next morning Federigo fetched me. Maretti 
joined us. Fresh morning breezes blew from the sea, 
and our carriage rolled around the bay from Naples 
to Herculaneum. 

“ How the smoke whirls from Vesuvius !” said 
Federigo, and pointed to the mountain. “We shall 
have a glorious evening.” 

“ The smoke whirled in another manner,” said 
Maretti ; “ it went like the shadow of a cloud over the 
whole country, anno 79 post Christum. At that time the 
cities which we now go to visit were buried under lava 
and ashes !” 


228 


The Improvisator e. 


Exactly where the suburbs of Naples end, begin the 
cities of Sant Giovanni, Portici, and Recina, which lie 
so close that they may be regarded as one city. We 
had reached the goal before I was aware of it, and drew 
up before a house in Recina. Under the street here, 
under the whole city, lies Herculaneum buried. Lava 
and ashes covered the whole city in a few hours ; people 
forgot its existence, and the city of Recina rose above 
it. 

We entered the nearest house, in the garden of which 
was a large open well, through which a spiral staircase 
descended. 

“ See you, gentlemen,” said Maretti ; “ it was post 
Christum 1720 that the Prince of Elboeuf had this well dug. 
As soon as they had descended a few feet, they found 
statues, and so the excavation was forbidden ( mirabile 
dictu /) For thirty years not a hand moved itself before 
Charles of Spain came here, ordered the well to be dug 
deeper, and they stood upon a great stone staircase, 
such as we now see here !” 

The daylight descended here but to a short distance ; 
and these were the seats of the great theatre of Hercu- 
laneum. Our guides kindled a light for each of us to 
carry, and we descended to the depth of the well, and 
now stood upon the seats on which the spectators, 
seventeen hundred years before, had sat ; like a giant 
body, had laughed, been affected by, and had applauded 
the scenes of life which had been represented ! 

A little low door, close by, led us into a large, 
spacious passage. We descended to the orchestra ; saw 
there the different apartments for the different musi- 
cians, the dressing-room, and the scenes themselves. The 
greatness of the whole deeply impressed me. It could 
be lighted for us only piecemeal, yet it seemed to me 
much larger than the theatre of San Carlo. Silent, 


The Improvisatore. 


dark, and desolate, lay all around us, and a world rioted 
above us. As we imagine that a vanished race may, as 
spirits, enter into our scene of life and action, seemed I 
now to have stepped out of our age, and to be wander- 
ing, like a ghost, in the far-off antiquity. I literally 
longed for daylight, and we soon breathed again the 
warm air. 

We walked straight forward along the street of 
Recina, and an excavation lay before us, but much less 
than the former. This was all the remains of Hercu- 
laneum on which the sun shone. We saw one single 
street, houses with small, narrow windows, red and blue 
painted walls ; very little in comparison with that 
which awaited us in Pompeii. 

Recina lay behind us, and now we saw around us a 
plain, which seemed like a pitch-black, foaming sea, 
which had run into iron-dross. Yet here buildings had 
raised themselves ; little vine-gardens grew verdantly, 
and the church was half-buried in this land of death. 

“ I myself saw this destruction !” said Maretti. “ I 
was a child, in the age between lacteus and puer y as one 
may say. Never shall I forget that day ! The black 
dross over which we are now rolling was a glowing river 
of fire ; I saw how it rolled down from the mountain 
towards Torre del Greco. My father (beati sunt mortui ) 
has even plucked ripe grapes for me where now lies the 
black, stone-hardened rind. The lights burned blue 
within the church, and the outer walls were red from 
the strong glow of fire. The vineyards were buried, 
but the church stood like a floating ark upon this glow- 
ing sea of fire. 

Like vine-branches laden with heavy bunches swung 
from tree to tree, and looking like one single garland, 
thus united themselves city to city around the bay of 


230 


The Improv is a tore. 


Naples.* The whole way, with the exception of the 
already-mentioned desolate extent, appears a Toledo 
street. The light cabriolets full of people, riders on 
horseback and on asses, passed one another ; whole 
caravans of travelers, ladies and gentlemen, contribute 
to the life of the picture. 

I had always imagined Pompeii, like Herculaneum, 
below the earth, but it is not so. It looks down from 
the mountain over the vineyards to the blue Mediter- 
ranean. We ascended at every step, and stood now 
before an opening made in a wall of dark-gray ashes, to 
which grim hedges and cotton-plants attempted to give 
a friendly appearance. Soldiers on guard presented 
themselves, and we entered the suburb of Pompeii. 

“ You have read the letters of Tacitus ?” said Maretti. 
“ You have read those of the younger Pliny ; now you 
shall have such commentaries on his work as no other 
author has.” 

The long street in which we stood is called the Tomb 
Street. Here are monuments on monuments. Before 
two of these one finds round, handsome seats, with 
beautiful ornaments. Here, in those former times, the 
sons and daughters of Pompeii rested themselves, on 
their rambles out of the city. From the tombs they 
looked out over the blooming landscape, the lively bend 
of the road, and the bay. Next we saw a row of houses 
on each side, all shops ; like so many skeletons with 
hollow eye-sockets they seemed to stare upon us. On 
every hand were traces of the earthquake which, earlier 
than the great destruction, had shaken the city. Many 
houses plainly showed that they were in the progress of 
building exactly when the fire and ashes buried them for 


* Where Torre del Greco ends begins immediately Torre del 
Annunciata . — Author s JVote, 


The Improvisa to re. 


231 


centuries ; unfinished marble cornices lay on the ground, 
and near to them the models, in terra cotta, from which 
they were being worked. 

We had now reached the walls of the city ; up these, 
flights of broad steps led us to an amphitheatre. Before 
us stretched out a long, narrow street, paved, as in 
Naples, with lava-flags, the remains of a much earlier 
eruption than that which, seventeen hundred years 
before, had devastated Herculaneum and Pompeii. 
Deep tracks of wheels are visible in the stone ; and 
upon the houses one still reads the names of the inhabit- 
ants, hewn in whilst they yet lived there. Before a few 
of the houses there yet hung out signs, one of which 
announced that here, in this house, mosaic-work was 
done. 

All the apartments were small ; the light was 
admitted through the roof, or by an opening above the 
door, a square portico inclosed the court, which was 
usually only large enough for a single little flower-bed 
or basin, in which the fountains played ; for the rest, 
the courts and floors were ornamented with beautiful 
mosaics, in which artistical forms, circles, and quadrants, 
cut through each other. The walls were brightly 
painted with deep red, blue, and white colors, with 
female dancers, genii, and light floating figures around 
upon a glowing ground. All was indescribably grace- 
ful in coloring and drawing, and as fresh as if they had 
been painted only yesterday. Federigo and Maretti were 
in deep conversation on the wonderful composition of 
colors which resist time so uncommonly well — yes, 
before I was aware of it, were deep in the middle of 
Bayardi’s ten folio volumes on the “ Antique Monuments 
of Herculaneum.” They, like a thousand others, for- 
got the poetical reality which lay before them, and 
busied themselves with criticism, and treatises thereon. 


232 


The Improvisatore . 


Pompeii itself was forgotten amid their learned 
researches. I had not been thus consecrated to these 
outwardly learned mysteries ; the reality around me 
was a poetical world, in which my soul felt itself at 
home. Centuries melted together into years, revealed 
themselves in moments in which every care slumbered, 
and my thoughts won anew repose and inspiration. 

We stood before the house of Sallust. 

“ Sallust !” shouted Maretti, and lifted his hat, “ corpus 
sine animo ! The soul is hence, but we salute reveren- 
tially the inanimate body.” 

A large picture of Diana and Actseon occupied the 
opposite wall. The workmen exclaimed aloud and joy- 
fully, and brought forth to the light a magnificent mar- 
ble table, white as the stone of Carrara, supported by 
two glorious sphinxes ; but that which deeply affected 
me, was the yellow bones which I saw, and, in the ashes, 
the impression of a female breast of infinite beauty. 

We went across the Forum to the Temple of Jupiter. 
The sun shone upon the white marble pillars ; beyond 
lay the smoking Vesuvius ; pitch-black clouds whirled 
out from the crater, and white as snow hung the white 
steam over the stream of lava, which had formed to 
itself a path down the side of the mountain. 

We saw the theatre, and seated ourselves upon the 
step-formed benches. The stage, with its pillars, its 
walled background, with its doors for exit, all stood as if 
people had played there yesterday ; but no tone more 
will sound from the orchestra, no Roscius speak to the 
exulting crowd. All was dead around us ; the great 
stage of Nature alone breathed of life. The succulent 
green vineyards, the populous road which led down to 
Salerno, and in the background the dark blue mountain 
with its sharp outline in the warm ethereal coloring, was * 
a great theatre, upon which Pompeii itself stood like a 


The Improvisator e. 


233 


tragic chorus, which sang of the power of the angel of 
death. I saw him, even himself, whose wings are coal- 
black ashes, and overflowing lava which he spreads over 
cities and villages. 

We were not to ascend Vesuvius till evening, when 
the glowing lava and moonlight would have great effect. 
We took asses from Recina, and rode up the mountain ; 
the road lay through vineyards and lonesome farms ; 
very soon, however, the vegetation diminished into 
small, woeful looking hedges, and dry, reed-like blades 
of grass. The wind blew colder and stronger, other- 
wise the evening was infinitely beautiful. The sun 
seemed, as it sank, like a burning fire, the heavens 
beamed like gold, the sea was indigo, and the islands 
pale blue clouds. It was a fairy world in which I stood. 
On the edge of the bay Naples grew more and more 
indistinct ; in the far distance lay the mountains covered 
with snow, which shone gloriously, like the glaciers of 
the Alps, whilst aloft, quite close to us, glowed the red 
lava of Vesuvius. 

At length we came to a plain, covered with the iron- 
black lava, where was neither road nor track. Our 
asses carefully assayed their footing before they 
advanced a step, and thus we only very slowly ascended 
the higher part of the mountain, which, like a promon- 
tory, raised itself out of this dead, petrified sea. We 
approached the dwelling of the hermit through a narrow 
excavated road, where only reed-like vegetation was 
found. A troop of soldiers sat here around a blazing 
fire, and drank from their bottles lacrymx Christi. They 
serve as an escort for strangers against the robbers of 
the mountains. Here the torches were lighted, and the 
winds seized upon their flames as if they would extin- 
guish them, and rend away every spark. By this waver- 
ing, unsteady light, we rode onward in the dark even- 


234 


The Improvisator e . 


ing along the narrow, rocky path, over loose pieces of 
lava, and close beside the deep abyss. At length, like a 
mountain, reared itself before us the coal-black peak of 
ashes ; this we had to ascend ; our asses could no longer 
be serviceable to us ; we left them, therefore, behind us 
with the lads who had driven them. 

The guide went first with the torches, we others fol- 
lowed after, but in a zig-zag direction, because we went 
through the soft ashes, in which we sank at every step 
up to the knee ; nor could we keep a regular line behind 
one another, because there lay great loose stones and 
blocks of lava in the ashes, which rolled down when we 
trod upon them ; at every other step we slid one back- 
wards, every moment we fell into the black ashes ; it 
was as if we had leaden weights fastened to our feet. 

“ Courage !” cried the guide before us, “ we shall 
quickly be at the summit !” But the point of the moun- 
tain seemed forever to be at the same height above us. 
Expectation and desire gave wings to my feet ; an hour 
elapsed before we reached the top — I was the first who 
did so. 

A vast platform, scattered over with immense pieces 
of lava thrown one upon another, spread itself here 
before our eyes, in the midst of which stood a mount of 
ashes. It was the cone of the deep crater. Like a ball 
of fire hung the moon above it ; thus high had it 
ascended ; and now, for the first time, the mountain 
permitted us to see it, but only for a moment ; in the 
next, with the rapidity of thought, a coal-black cloud 
whirled out of the crater, and it became dark night 
around us ; deep thunder rolled within the mountain ; 
the ground trembled under our feet, and we were com- 
pelled to hold firmly one by another that we might not 
fall. The same moment resounded an explosion which 
a hundred cannon could only faintly imitate. The 


The Improvisator e % 


235 


smoke divided itself, and a column of fire, certainly a 
mile high, darted into the blue air ; glowing stones, like 
blood-rubies, were cast upwards in the white fire. I 
saw them like rockets falling above us, but they fell in a 
right line into the crater, or else rolled down the mound 
of ashes. 

“ Eternal God 1” stammered my heart, and I hardly 
ventured to breathe. 

“ Vesuvius is in a Sunday humor !” said the guide, 
and beckoned us onwards. I had imagined that our 
journey was at an end, but the guide pointed forward 
over the plain, where the whole horizon was a brilliant 
fire, and where gigantic figures moved themselves like 
black shades upon the strong fire-ground. These were 
travelers who stood between us and the down-stream 
lava. We had gone round the mountain in order to 
avoid this, and had ascended it from the opposite, the 
eastern side. In its present restless state we could not 
approach the crater itself, but could only stand where 
the lava streams, like fountains of water, poured out of 
the sides of the mountain. We therefore left the crater 
on our left, advanced across the mountain plain, and 
climbed over the great blocks of lava, for here was 
neither road nor path. The pale moonlight, and the 
red glare of the torches upon this uneven ground, 
caused every shadow and every cleft to seem like a 
gulf, whilst we could see only the deep darkness. 

Again the loud thunder resounded below us, all 
became night, and a new eruption glared before us. 

Only slowly, and feeling before us with our hands at 
every step, crept we onwards towards our goal, and 
quickly we perceived that everything which we touched 
was warm. Between the blocks of lava it streamed 
forth hot as from an oven. 

A smooth plain now lay before us ; a lava-stream 


236 


The Improvisatore. 


which was only about two days old, the upper rind of 
which was already black and hard from the operation 
of the air, although scarcely half an ell thick, under 
which lay, fathoms deep, the glowing lava. Firm as the 
ice-rind on an inland lake, lay here the hardened crust 
above this sea of fire. Over this we had to pass, and, 
on the other side, lay again the uneven blocks, upon 
which the strangers stood, and looked down upon the 
new torrent of lava, which they could see only from this 
point. 

We advanced singly, with the guides at our head, 
upon the crust of lava ; it glowed through the soles of 
our shoes ; and around us, in many places, where the 
heat had caused great chinks, we could see the red fire 
below us ; if the rind had broken, we should have been 
plunged into the sea of fire ! We assayed every foot- 
step before we took it, and yet went on hastily in order 
to pass this space, for it burned our feet, and produced 
the same effect as iron when it begins to cool and 
become black, which, when put in motion, instantly 
emits again fiery sparks ; on the snow the foot-prints 
were black, here red. Neither of us spoke a word ; 
we had not imagined this journey to have been so fear- 
ful. 

An Englishman turned back to us with his guide ; he 
came up to me upon the very crust of the lava where 
we were surrounded by the fiery red rents. 

“ Are there any English among you ?” he inquired. 

“ Italian only, and a Dane,” I replied. 

“ The devil !” That was all that was said. 

We had now arrived at the great blocks on which 
many strangers were standing. I also mounted one, 
and before me, down the mountain-side, glided slowly 
the fresh torrent of lava ; it was like a redly glowing, 
fiery slime, as of metal streaming from a furnace, and 


The Improvisatore . 


^37 


which spread it out below us far and wide, to a vast 
extent. No language, no picture, can represent this in 
its greatness and its fearful effect. The very air 
appeared like fire and brimstone ; a thick steam floated 
upwards over the lava-stream, red with the strongly 
reflected light ; but all around was night. It thundered 
below in the mountain, and above us ascended the 
pillar of fire, with its glowing stars. Never before had 
I felt myself so near to God. His omnipotence and 
greatness filled my soul. It was as if the fire around 
me burned out every weakness within me ; I felt 
strength and courage ; my immortal soul lifted its 
wings. 

“ Almighty God !” breathed forth my spirit, “ I will 
be Thy apostle. Amid the storms of the world I will 
sing Thy name, Thy might and majesty ! Higher shall 
my song resound than that of the monk in his lonely 
cell. A poet I am ! Give me strength ; preserve my 
soul pure, as the soul of Thy priest and of Nature’s 
ought to be !” I folded my hands in prayer, and, kneel- 
ing amid fire and cloud, poured out my thanks to Him 
whose wonders and whose greatness spoke to my soul. 

We descended, from the block of lava on which we 
stood, and were scarcely more than a few paces from 
the place, when, with a loud noise, it sank down through 
the broken crust, and a cloud of sparks whirled aloft in 
the air; but I did not tremble ; I felt that my God was 
near to me ; it was one of those moments in life in 
which the soul is conscious of the bliss of its immor- 
tality, in which there is neither fear nor pain, for it 
knows itself and its God. 

All around us sparks were cast upwards from small 
craters, and new eruptions followed every minute from 
the large one ; they rushed into the air like a flock of 
birds which flew all at once out of a wood. Federigo 


238 


The Improvisatore. 


was as much transported as I was, and our descent from 
the mountain in the loose ashes corresponded with our 
excited state of mind; we flew; it was a falling through 
the air ; we slid, ran, sank. The ashes lay as soft as 
new-fallen snow upon the mountains. We needed only 
ten minutes for our descent, whereas we had required 
an hour in ascending. The wind had abated ; our asses 
were waiting for us below, and in the hut of the hermit 
sat our learned man, who had declined making the 
Wearisome ascent with us. 

I felt myself animated anew. I turned my glance 
continually backwards ; the lava lay in the distance like 
colossal falling stars ; the moon shone like day. We 
traveled along the edge of the beautiful bay, and saw 
the reflection of the moon and the lava in two long 
stretches of light, the one red, the other blue, trembling 
on the mirror of the waters. I felt a strength in my 
soul, a clearness in my comprehension ; yes, if I may 
compare the small with the great, I was so far related 
to Boccaccio, that the impression of a place, and its 
momentary inspiration, determined the whole operation 
of the spirit. Virgil’s grave saw his tears, the world his 
worth as a poet; the greatness and terror of the volcano 
had chased away depression and doubt; therefore, that 
which I saw this day and this evening is so vividly 
impressed upon my soul, therefore have I lingered over 
this description, and have given that which then 
stamped itself upon my breast, and which I otherwise 
must have spoken of at a later period. 

Our learned man invited us to accompany him home. 
At the first moment I felt some embarrassment, a 
strange reluctance, after the last scene between me and 
Santa, to see her again ; but the greater and more 
important decision in my soul soon annihilated this 
lesser one. 


The Improvisatore. 


239 


She took me kindly by the hand, poured us out wine, 
was natural and lively, so that at last I upbraided 
myself for my severe judgment upon her ; I felt that 
the impure thought existed in myself ; her compassion 
and sympathy, which she had evidently expressed so 
strongly, I had mistaken for unworthy passion. I 
sought now, therefore, by friendliness and jest, which 
was quite accordant with my present state of mind, to 
make up for my strange behavior the day before. She 
seemed to understand me, and I read in her glance a 
sister’s heartfelt sympathy and love. 

Signora Santa and her husband had never yet heard 
me improvise ; they urged me to do so. I sang of our 
ascent to Vesuvius, and applause and admiration saluted 
me. That which Annunciata’s silent glance had spoken 
was poured in eloquent language from Santa’s lips, and 
they became doubly beautiful from these words ; the 
eyes burned with looks of gratitude into my very soul. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING MY DEBUT IN SAN CARLO. 

It was decided that I should make my debut as Impro- 
visatore. Day by day I felt my courage to do so 
increase. In Maretti’s house, and in the few families 
whose acquaintance I had made there, I contributed^ 
by my talent, to the entertainment of the company, and 
received the warmest praise and encouragement. It 
was a refreshment for my sick soul ; I experienced a joy 
therefrom, and a gratitude towards Providence, and 
nobody who could have read my thoughts would have 


240 


The Improvisatore. 


called the fire which burned in my eyes vanity ; it was 
pure joy ! I had really a sort of anxiety about the 
praise which they bestowed upon me ; I feared that I 
was unworthy of it, or that I should not always be able 
to preserve it. I felt it deeply, and ventured to express 
it, although it concerned me so much. Praise and 
encouragement are the best school for a noble soul ; 
where, on the contrary, severity and unjust blame either 
render it timid, or else awaken defiance and scorn. I 
had learned this by own experience. 

Maretti showed me much attention, and went out of 
his way to serve me, and introduced me to persons who 
could be useful to me in the path which I had chosen 
for myself. Santa was infinitely mild and affectionate 
towards me ; and yet it seemed to me that a something 
within me ever repelled me from her. I always went 
with Federigo, or when I knew that they had company 
with them ; I feared lest the late scene should be 
renewed. Yet my eye dwelt upon her when she was not 
aware of it ; and I could not help thinking her beauti- 
ful. It happened with me, as it so often happens in the 
world, people are jested with ; they are told that they 
love somebody that they have never thought about, nor 
have paid much attention to. But then comes the desire 
to see what there may be in this person, and why they 
should be fixed upon for our choice. One begins with 
curiosity, which becomes interest ; and one has had 
examples of interest in a person becoming love. With 
me, however, it only went no farther than to attention 
— a sort of outward regard which I had never known 
before, but just sufficient to excite a beating of the 
heart — an anxiety which made me bashful, and kept me 
at a distance from her. 

I had now been two months in Naples ; on the next 
Sunday I was to make my debut in the great theatre at 


The Improvisator' e . 


241 


San Carlo. The opera of the Barber of Seville was 
given that night ; and, after this, I was to improvise on 
given subjects. I called myself Cenci ; I had not 
the boldness to have my family name placed on the 
bill. 

An extraordinary longing for the decisive day which 
was to establish my fame filled my soul ; but with it 
there often went also an anxiety, a feverish terror, 
through my blood. Federigo comforted me ; said that 
that came from the air — he, and almost everybody else, 
felt the same ; it proceeded from Vesuvius, whose 
eruptions increased so greatly. The lava-stream was 
already come below the mountain, and had taken the 
direction towards Torre del Annunciata. We could 
hear, in an evening, the thundering reports in the 
mountain ; the air was filled with ashes, which lay 
thickly upon the trees and flowers. The top of the 
mountain stood enveloped in tempest-brooding clouds, 
from which, with every eruption, darted forth the zig- 
zag pale blue lightning. Santa was unwell, like the 
rest. “ It is fever,” she said, and her eye burned. She 
looked pale, and expressed herself very much troubled 
about it ; because she must, and would, be in San Carlo 
on the evening of my debut. 

“Yes,” said she, “that I shall, even though I have a 
fever three times as severe the day after. I shall not 
remain away. One must venture one’s life for one’s 
friends, even if they know nothing about it !” 

I pass my time now on the promenades, in the coffee- 
houses, and the various theatres. Again, my excited 
state of mind drove me to the churches, to the foot of 
the Madonna ; there I confessed every sinful thought, 
and prayed for courage, and for strength to follow the 
powerful impulses of my soul. “ Bella ragazza !” whis- 
pered the tempter in my ear, and my cheeks burned as 


242 


The Improvisatore . 


I tore myself away. My spirit and my blood strove for 
the mastery ; I felt, as it were, a period of transition in 
my individual I. The next Sunday evening I regarded 
as the culmination-point. 

“We must just for once go to the great gambling- 
house,” Federigo had said many a time. “ A poet must 
know everything!” 

We had not been there ; and I felt a kind of bashful- 
ness in going. Bernardo had not said of me, without 
some degree of justice, that my bringing up with the 
good Domenica, and in the Jesuits’ school, had infused 
a little goat’s milk in my blood — cowardice, as he had 
also offensively called it. 

I needed more decision ; I must live more in the 
world if I meant to describe it ! These thoughts passed 
impressively through my mind, as, somewhat late in the 
evening, I went to the most celebrated gaming-house in 
Naples. 

“ I will go up there just because I feel the want of 
courage to do so !” said I, within myself. “ I need not 
play ; Federigo and my other friends will say that I 
have done very rationally.” 

Yet how weak one can be ! My heart beat all the 
time as if I were about to commit a sin, whilst my rea- 
son whispered to me that there really was no harm in 
it at all. Swiss guards stood at the doors ; the staircase 
was magnificently lighted. In the lobby stood a crowd 
of servants, who took from me my hat and stick, and 
opened the door for me, which revealed to me a suit of 
well-lighted rooms. There was a large assembly of 
people, gentlemen and ladies. Endeavoring not to 
appear embarrassed, I went quickly forward into the 
first saloon, and no one took the least notice of me. The 
company sat around the great gaming-table, with piles 
of colonati and louis-d’or lying before them. 


The Improvisatore. 


243 

A lady advanced in years, who certainly had once 
been handsome, sat with painted cheeks, and richly 
apparelled, grasping the cards in her hands, whilst she 
fixed a falcon glance upon the piles of gold. Several 
young and very lovely girls stood in very confidential 
conversation with some gentlemen — all of them the 
beautiful daughters of sin. Even the old lady with the 
falcon eye had once won hearts, as she could now win, 
with their color. 

In one of the smallest of the chambers there stood a 
red and green diced table. I saw that they set one or 
more colonati upon one of these colors ; the balls were 
rolled, and, if they lay upon the selected color, the stake 
was won double. It went on like the beating of my 
pulse ; gold and silver played over the board. I also 
took out my purse, threw a colonati upon the table, 
which fell on the red color. The man who stood before 
it looked at me with an inquiring glance, as to whether 
it should remain lying there. I nodded involuntarily ; 
the ball rolled, and my money was doubled. I became 
quite embarrassed thereby ; it remained lying there, and 
the ball rolled again and again. Fortune favored my 
play ; my blood was put into motion. It was only my 
lucky piece which I ventured ; presently there lay a 
heap of silver before me, and the louis-d’or shone beside 
it as a balance. I swallowed a glass of wine, for my 
mouth was parched. The great heap of silver increased 
more and more, for I took none of it away. The ball 
rolled again, and, with the most cold blooded mien, the 
banker swept the whole glittering heap to himself. My 
beautiful golden dream was at an end ; but it also 
awoke me. I played no more ; I had only lost the col- 
onati which I had risked at first. This consoled me, and 
I went into the next saloon. 

Among the young ladies there was one who attracted 


244 


The Improvisatore. 


my attention by a wonderful likeness to Annunciata, 
only she was taller and stouter. My eye rested continu- 
ally upon her. She observed it, stepped up to me, and, 
pointing to a little table, asked whether we should 
make up a party. I excused myself, and returned to 
the room from which I was just come ; she followed me 
with her eye. In the innermost room, a number of 
young men were playing at billiards ; they were playing 
without their coats, although ladies were in their com- 
pany. I did not remember what freedom was permitted 
in this company. Before the door, but with his back 
towards me, stood a young man of fine figure ; he 
steadied the queue on the ball, and made a masterly 
stroke, for which he was applauded. The lady, even, 
who had attracted my attention, nodded kindly, and 
seemed to say something amusing. He turned himself 
round, and wafted her a kiss with his hand, whilst she 
jestingly struck him on the shoulder. My heart beat ; 
it was actually Bernardo ! 

I had not courage to advance nearer, yet I desired to 
have perfect knowledge. I stole along the wall towards 
the open door of a large, half-lighted saloon, where, 
unseen myself, I could more narrowly observe him. A 
twilight pervaded this apartment ; red and white glass 
lamps cast a faint light ; an artificial garden adjoined it, 
adorned with bowers, which, however, were only formed 
with painted, leaden foliage, surrounded by beautiful 
orange-trees, stuffed parrots, with brilliant plumage, 
swung among the branches, whilst a hand-organ played, 
in low tones, soft, graceful melodies, that went to the 
heart. A mild coolness was wafted through the open 
door from the arcade. Scarcely had I cast a hasty 
glance over the whole, when Bernardo approached with 
light footsteps ; I drew myself mechanically into an 
arbor ; he saw me standing there, smiled and nodded 


The Improvisatore . 


245 


to me, and, hastening into the next arbor, threw him- 
self upon a seat, and hummed an air half aloud. A 
thousand emotions agitated my breast : — he there ? I 
so near him ? I felt a trembling in all my limbs, and 
was obliged to seat myself. The fragrant flowers, the 
half-suppressed music, the twilight, even the soft, 
elastic sofa, all carried me into a sort of dream-world, 
and only in such a one could I expect to meet with 
Bernardo. Whilst I thus sat, the young lady whom 
I have already mentioned, entered the room and 
approached the arbor where I was ; seeing this, Ber- 
nardo hummed aloud, and she, recognizing his voice, 
turned towards him. I heard a kiss ; it burned into my 
soul. 

Him — the faithless, fickle Bernardo, had Annunciata 
preferred to me ! Already, so shortly after the happi- 
ness of his love, he could forget her, could consecrate 
his lips to an image of beauty formed of clay ! I darted 
out of the room, out of the house ; my heart trembled 
with indignation and pain. I got no rest till morning. 

The day was now come on the evening of which I 
was to make my debut in the theatre of San Carlo. The 
thoughts of this and the adventures of yesterday had 
set my whole soul in motion. Never had my heart 
prayed more inwardly to the Madonna and the saints. 
I went to church, received the sacrament from the 
priest ; prayed that it might strengthen and purify me, 
and felt its wonderful power ! One thought only 
seized disturbingly upon the rest which was so neces- 
sary for me, and this was, whether Annunciata were 
here — whether Bernardo had followed her. Federigo 
brought me the certain intelligence that she was not 
here ; he, on the contrary, as the list of arrivals showed, 
had been here four days. Santa, I knew, was ill of 
fever ; but, notwithstanding, she insisted on going to 


246 


The Improvisatore. 


the theatre. The play-bills were pasted up ; Federigo 
told histories, and Vesuvius threw up fire and ashes 
more violently than usual ; all was in activity. 

The opera had begun when the carriage conveyed me 
to the theatre. Had the Fates sat at my side, and my 
life’s thread been between the shears, I believe I should 
have exclaimed, “Cut away!” My prayer and my 
thought were, “ God lets all things be for the best.” 

In the green-room I found a crowd of artists of the 
stage, and some fine spirits, and even an improvisatore, 
and a professor of the French language, Santini, with 
whom Maretti had made me acquainted. The con- 
versation was easy ; they jested and laughed ; the 
singers in “ The Barber ” came and went as if it were 
from a party ; the stage was their accustomed home. 

“We shall give you a theme,” said Santini ; “ oh, a 
hard nut to crack ; but it will succeed. I remember 
how I trembled the first time that I made my appear- 
ance ; but it succeeded ! I had my tricks — little 
innocent artifices which reason permits ; certain little 
stanzas about love, and antiquity, the beauty of Italy, 
poetry and art, which one knows how to bring in, to 
say nothing of a few standing poems ; that is a matter 
of course !” 

I assured him that I had never thought of preparing 
myself in this way. 

“Yes, that one says,” said he, laughing, “but good ! 
good ! You are a rational young man ; it will succeed 
gloriously with you !” 

The piece came to an end, and I stood alone upon 
the empty stage. 

“ The scaffold is ready !” said the manager laughing, 
and gave the sign to the mechanist. The curtain drew 
up. 

I saw only a black abyss, could only distinguish the 


The Improvisatore. 


24 7 


first heads in the orchestra, and the first boxes of the 
five heights in that lofty building ; a thick, warm air 
wafted towards me. I felt a strong resolution within 
me which was amazing to myself ; to be sure, my soul 
was in a state of excitement, but it was, as it ought to 
be, flexible and susceptible of every thought. As the 
air is the clearest when in winter severe cold penetrates 
it, thus felt I an elasticity and clearness all at once. 
All my spiritual abilities* were awake, as in this case 
they must and should be. 

Any one could give me a subject on a slip of paper, 
upon which I was to improvise, a secretary of the police 
having in the first place examined that nothing contrary 
to the law was suggested. From these subjects I could 
make my selection. In the first I read “II cavalier 
servente but I had never rightly thought over this kind 
of business I knew* certainly, that the cicisbeo , as they 
are also called, was the knight of the present time, who, 
now that he can no longer enter the lists for his lady, is 
her faithful attendant, who stands in the place of her 
husband. I recollected the well-known sonnet, “ Femina 
di costume, di manure but at the moment not a thought 
would arise in my mind to embellish this subject. I 


* This sonnet is in W. Muller’s Rom, Romer, and Romerin. 
The cicisbeo was established in Genoa, among the merchants. 
Business took these men much from home, and in order not to 
confine their wives to the house, they were placed under the care 
of a friend, to become their attendant ; commonly this friend was 
a priest. Afterwards it became the fashion ; nobody could do with- 
out a cicisbeo . The connexion was noble and pure, and there are 
instances in which the dead have been praised on their monuments 
for the exact and faithful fulfilment of their duty as cicisbeos. F rom 
morning to night must the cicisbeo attend his lady, must show her 
the greatest attention, and, on the contrary, be indifferent to 
others ; this is his duty. — Author's Note. 


248 


The Improvisotore . 


opened with impatience the second paper ; in it was 
written “ Capri this, also was embarrassing to me. I 
had never been upon the island, had only seen its 
beautiful mountain outline from Naples. What I did 
not know I could not sing ; I preferred rather “ II 
cavalier servente.” 

I opened the third paper, and here I read, “ The 
Catacombs of Naples neither had I been here ; but 
with the word catacombs a life’s moments stood before 
me ; the ramble in my childhood with Federigo, and 
our adventure, arose livingly before my soul. I struck 
a few notes ; the verses came of themselves ; I related 
what I had felt and gone through, only that it was in 
the catacombs of Naples instead of Rome. I seized 
for a second time the thread of happiness, and repeated 
stormy plaudits saluted me ; they streamed like cham- 
pagne through my blood. 

They gave me now as a subject, “ Fata Morgana I 
had not seen this beautiful ethereal appearance, peculiar 
to Sicily and Naples ; but I knew very well the beauty 
fairy Phantasy, which dwelt in those splendid castles ; 
I could describe my own dream-world, in which floated, 
also, her gardens and castles. In my heart, indeed 
abode life’s most beautiful “ Fata Morgana.” 

I rapidly thought over my subject ; a little story 
fashioned itself therewith, and new ideas presented 
themselves in my song. I began with a little descrip- 
tion of the ruined church at Posilippo, without precisely 
mentioning its name. This romantic house had 
captivated me, and I gave a picture of the church, 
which now had become the home of the fisherman ; a 
little child lay asleep on his bed below the window on 
which the picture of Saint George was painted on the 
glass. In the still moonlight night a beautiful little 
girl came to him ; she was as lovely and as light as air, 


The Improvisatore . 


249 


and had beautiful, bright-colored wings upon her 
shoulders. They played together, and she led him out 
into the green vine-grove, showed him a thousand 
glorious things which he had never seen before ; they 
went out into the mountains, which opened themselves 
into large, splendid churches, full of pictures and 
altars ; they sailed upon the beautiful blue sea over 
against the smoking Vesuvius, and the mountain 
appeared as if of glass ; they saw how the fires burned 
and raged within it ; they went below the earth and 
visited the old cities, of which he had heard tell, and all 
the people were living ; he saw their wealth and pomp, 
greater even than we have any conception of from their 
ruins. She loosened her wings, bound them upon his 
shoulders, for she, without these, was light .as air, and 
needed them not. 

Thus flew they over the orange-woods, over the 
mountains, the luxuriant green Marshes, to ancient 
Rome, amid the dead Campagna ; flew over the beauti- 
ful blue sea, far past Capri, rested upon the crimson, 
shining clouds, and the little girl kissed him, called her- 
self Fancy, and showed him her mother’s beautiful 
castle, built of air and sunbeams, and there they played 
so happily and so joyously ! But, as the boy grew up, 
the little girl came to him less frequently, peeped only 
at him in the moonlight between the green vine-leaves, 
and the oranges nodded to him, and he became troubled 
and full of longing. But he must now help his father 
on the sea, learn to work the oars, to pull the ropes, and 
steer the boat in the storm ; but all the more he grew, 
all the more turned his thoughts towards his beloved 
playfellow, who nevermore visited him. Late in the 
moonlight nights, when he lay upon the quiet sea, he 
let the oars rest, and down in the deep, clear water, he 
saw the sandy, seaweed-strewn bottom of the ocean. 


250 


The Improvisatore . 


Fancy then looked upwards at him, with her dark, 
beautiful eyes, and seemed to beckon and call him 
downward to her. 

One morning many fishermen stood together on the 
shore. Floating in the ascending beams of the sun, 
not far from Capri, lay a new, wondrously beautiful 
island formed of rainbow colors, with glittering towers, 
stars, and clear, purple-tinted clouds. “ Fata Mor- 
gana!” exclaimed they all, and triumphed joyfully in 
the charming apparition ; but the young fisher knew 
it well ; there had he played ; there had he abode with 
his beautiful Fancy ; a strange melancholy and yearn- 
ing seized upon his soul ; but, amid his tears, grew dim 
and vanished the whole well-known image. 

In the clear moonlight evening again ascended, from 
the promontory on which the fishermen stood, castles 
and islands fashioned of brightness and of air ; they 
saw a boat with the speed of an arrow dart towards the 
strangely floating land and vanish : and suddenly was 
extinguished the whole creation of light, and, instead, a 
coal-black cloud spread itself over the sea, a water- 
spout advanced along the peaceful surface, which now 
oegan to heave its dark green billows. When this had 
vanished, the ocean was again calm , the moon shone 
upon the azure waters, but they saw no boat ; the 
young fisher had vanished — vanished with the beauti- 
ful Fata Morgana J 

The same applause as before greeted me again ; my 
courage and my inspiration increased. The next sub- 
ject which was given furnished recollections out of my 
own life, which it was only needful for me to relate. I 
was to improvise of Tasso. He was myself ; Leonora 
was Annunciata ; we saw each other at the court of 
Ferrara. I suffered with him in captivity ; breathed 
again freedom with death in my heart, as I looked from 


The Improvisatore, 


251 


Sorrento over the billowy sea towards Naples ; sat with 
him under the oak at the Convent of St. Onophrius ; 
the bell of the Capitol sounded for his coronation-feast, 
but the angel of death came and first placed upon his 
head the crown of immortality. 

My heart beat violently ; I was engrossed, was carried 
away by the flight of my thoughts. Yet was one more 
poem given to me, it was “ The Death of Sappho.” 
The pangs of jealousy I had felt as-' I remembered 
Bernardo ; Annunciata’s kiss upon his brow burned 
into my soul. Sappho’s beauty was that of Annunciata ; 
but the sufferings of her love were my own. The 
ocean waters closed over Sappho ! 

My poem had called forth tears ; the most extraor- 
dinary applause resounded from all sides, and after the 
curtain had fallen, I was twice called for. A happiness, 
a nameless joy, filled my soul, and yet seemed so to 
oppress my heart till it was ready to break ; and when 
I had left the stage amid the embraces and congratula- 
tions of my friends and acquaintances, I burst into tears, 
into violent, convulsive sobs. 

With Santini, Federigo, and some of the singers, a 
very lively evening was spent ; they drank to my well- 
being, and I was happy, but my lips were sealed ! 

“ He is a pearl,” exclaimed Federigo in his gay 
delight, speaking of me ; “ his only fault is, that he is a 
Joseph the second, whom we Danes, for the sake of 
clearness, should call Joseph the son of Jacob ! Enjoy 
life, Antonio ; pluck the rose before it be withered !” 

It was late when I reached home ; and with prayers 
and thanks to the Madonna, and Jesus Christ, who had 
not forsaken me, I was soon deeply and soundly asleep. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

SANTA — THE ERUPTION — OLD CONNEXIONS. 

The next morning I stood before Federigo a new- 
born man ; I was able to express my delight ; I could 
not do it the evening before. Life around me interested 
me more ; I felt myself, as it were, ennobled ; I seemed 
to have become more mature through the dew of 
encouragement which had fallen upon my life’s tree. 

It was necessary, also, that I should pay a visit to 
Santa ; she had probably heard me the evening before ; 
I longed also to hear her praise, of which I was sure. 

Maretti received me with rapture, but Santa, I was 
told, had through the whole night, after she returned 
from the theatre, suffered severely from fever ; at this 
moment she was asleep, and sleep would be beneficial to 
her. I was made to promise that I would call again in 
the evening. I dined with Federigo and my new 
friends ; health after health was drunk ; the white 
lacrymaz Christi alternated with the wine of Calabria. I 
would not drink any more ; my blood was in a flame, 
champagne must cool it. 

We separated gaily, and full of delight. When we 
came out into the street, we found the atmosphere 
lighted up by Vesuvius, and the mighty streams of 
lava. Several of the party drove out to see the fearful 
but glorious spectacle. I went to Santa, for it was a 
little past the Ava Maria. I found that she was quite 


The Improvisator e. 


253 


alone, much better ; the servant said the sleep had 
strengthened her ; I was permitted to see her, but 
nobody else. 

I was introduced into a beautiful, snug little room, 
the long thick window-curtains of which were drawn; a 
lovely marble statue of Cupid whetting his arrow, and 
an argand lamp, whose light gave a magical coloring to 
the whole, were the first things which I saw. Santa 
lay, in a light wrapping-dress, on a soft, silken sofa : 
she half rose as I entered, held with one hand a large 
shawl around her, and extended the other to me. 

“Antonio!” said she, “it has succeeded gloriously! 
Fortunate man! you have captivated every one! Oh, 
you know not what anxiety I had about you ; how my 
heart beat ; and with what delight I again breathed 
when you so far exceeded my greatest expectation!” 

I bowed, and inquired after her health. She gave 
me her hand, and assured me that she was better. 
“Yes, much better,” said she ; and added, “you look 
like some one newly created! You look handsome, very 
handsome! When you were carried away by your inspi- 
ration, you looked quite ideal. It was you yourself that 
I saw in every poem, in the little boy with the painter, 
in the Catacombs, methought — you and Federigo!” 

“ It was so,” said I, interrupting her ; “ I have passed 
through all that I have sung.” 

“ Yes,” replied she, “ you yourself have passed 
through all — the bliss of love, the pain of love — may 
you be happy as you deserve !” 

I told her what a change there seemed to be in my 
whole being — how entirely different life seemed now to 
present itself to me ; and she grasped my hand, and 
looked as if into my soul, with her dark, expressive 
eyes. She was lovely, more lovely than common : a 
fine crimson glowed upon her cheeks ; the dark, glossy 


254 


The Improvisatore. 


hair was put smoothly back from the beautifully formed 
brow. The luxuriant figure resembled an image of 
Juno, beautiful as a Phidias could form it. 

“Yes,” said she, “you shall live for the world ; you 
are its property ; you will rejoice the captive millions ; 
let not, therefore, the thought of one single one seize 
distinctively on your happiness. You are worthy of 
love ; you captivate with your spirit, and with your 
talent, with — ” She panted ; and then, drawing me 
towards her, continued, “We must talk seriously ; we 
have, indeed, not been able rightly to talk together 
since that evening, when sorrow lay so heavily upon 
your soul ! You seemed then — yes, what shall I call it! 
— to have misunderstood me — ” 

My heart had done so ; and very often had I 
reproached myself for it. “ I am not deserving of your 
goodness,” said I, impressing a kiss upon her hand, and 
looking into her dark eyes with a purity of soul and 
thought. Her glance still burned and rested seriously, 
almost penetratingly, upon me. Had a stranger seen 
us, he would have discovered shadow where there was 
only purity and light. It was, my heart could assert it 
aloud, as if here met a brother and sister, eye and 
thought. 

She was greatly excited. I saw her bosom heave 
violently ; she loosened a scarf to breathe more freely. 
“You are deserving of love!” said she. “Soul and 
beauty are deserving of any woman’s love!” 

She laid her arm on my shoulder, and looked again 
into my face ; and then continued, with an indescriba- 
bly eloquent smile, “ And I can believe that you only 
dream in an ideal world ! You are possessed of delicacy 
and good sense ; and these always gain the victory. 
Therefore, Antonio, are you dear to me ; therefore is 
your love my dream, my thought !” She drew me 


2 55 


The Iinprovisatore. 


towards her ; her lips were like fire, that flowed into my 
very soul ! 

Eternal Mother of God ! Thy holy image, at that 
moment, fell down from the wall where it stood above 
my head. It was not a mere accident ! No ! thou 
touchedst my brow ; thou didst seize me as I was about 
to sink in the whirlpool of passion ! 

“ No ! no !” exclaimed I, starting up ; my blood was 
like seething lava. 

“Antonio !” she cried, “kill me ! kill me ! but do not 
leave me.” Her cheeks, her eyes, her glance, and 
expression was passion ; and yet she was beautiful — an 
image of beauty, painted in flame. I felt a tremor in 
all my nerves ; and, without replying, I left the apart- 
ment, and rushed down the steps, as if a dark spirit had 
pursued me. 

When I reached the street, all seemed in flame, like 
my blood. The current of the air wafted forward heat. 
Vesuvius stood in glowing fire — eruptions in rapid suc- 
cession lit up everything around. Air ! air ! demanded 
my heart. I hastened to the Molo, in the open bay, and 
seated myself exactly where the waves broke on the 
shore. The blood seemed to force itself to my eyes ; I 
cooled my brow with the salt water ; tore open my coat, 
that every breath of air might cool me ; but all was 
flame — the sea even shone like the fire of the red lava, 
which rolled down the mountain. Whichever way I 
looked, I saw her standing, as if painted in flame ; and 
looking into my soul with those beseeching, burning 
gleams of fire. “ Kill me ! but leave me not !” 
resounded in my ear. I closed my eyes, turned my 
thoughts towards God ; but they relapsed again ; it was 
as if the flames of sin had scorched the wings of my 
soul. An evil conscience must indeed crush the spirit, 


256 


The Improvisatore. 


when the thoughts of sin can thus enfeeble both mind 
and body. 

“ Will Excellenza have a boat to Torre del Annunci- 
ata?” said a voice close beside me, and the name of 
Annunciata recalled consciousness to my soul. 

“ The lava-stream runs three ells in a minute,” said 
the fellow, who with his oar held the boat firm to the 
land : “ in half an hour we can be there.” 

“The sea will cool me,” thought I, and spiang into 
the boat. The fellow stood from land ; spread out his 
sail ; and fc now we flew, as if borne onward by the wind, 
across the blood-red, glowing water. A cool wind blew 
on my cheek, I breathed more freely, and felt myself 
calmer and better, as we approached land on the oppo- 
site side of the bay. 

“ Never again will I see Santa,” I firmly determined 
in my heart. “ I will fly the serpent of beauty, which 
shows to me the fruit of knowledge. Thousands would 
ridicule me for doing so ; but rather their laughter than 
the lamenting cry of my own heart. Madonna, thou 
didst permit thy holy image to fall from the wall, that 
thereby I might be preserved from falling !” Deeply 
did I feel her protecting grace. 

A - wonderful joy now penetrated me ; all that was 
noble and good sang hymns of victory in my heart ; I 
was again the child of soul and thought. “ Father, 
direct Thou everything as is best for me !” I ejaculated 
in prayer ; and, full of the enjoyment of life, as if my 
happiness was established forever, I rambled through 
the streets of the little town to the highroad. 

Everything was in motion ; carriages and cabriolets 
laden with people drove past me ; they shouted, huzzaed, 
and sang, and everything around was lit up by the 
flame. The torrent of lava had approached a small city 
which lay upon the side of the mountain ; families fled 









TSi 


■ 


VW 











The Improvisatore. 


25 7 


therefrom. I saw women with little children at the 
breast, and with small bundles under their arms, heard 
their lamentations, and could not help dividing’ the 
small sum I had with me with the first that I met. I 
followed the crowd up among the vineyards, which were 
inclosed with white walls, and towards the direction 
which the lava took. A large vine-field lay between 
us and it, and the torrent, like red-hot, fiery slime many 
fathoms deep, came moving itself onward, and over- 
whelming buildings and walls in its course ; the cries of 
the fugitives, the exultation of the strangers at this 
imposing scene, the shouting of coachmen, and the 
venders of various wares, mingled strangely together, 
whilst groups of drunken peasants, who stood in crowds 
around the brandy-sellers, people in carriages, and peo- 
ple on horseback, all lighted up with the red fire-lights, 
formed a picture of which, in its completeness, no 
description can be given. One might advance quite 
close to the lava, which had its determined course ; 
many people stuck in their sticks, or else pieces of 
money, which they took oiit again, attached to a piece 
of lava. 

Fearfully beautiful was it when a part of the fiery 
mass, from its size, tore itself loose ; it was like the 
breakers of the sea; the descending piece lay like a 
beaming star outside the stream. The air first of all 
cooled the projecting corners ; they became black, and 
the whole piece appeared like dazzling gold, inclosed in 
a coal-black net. There had been hung on one of the 
vines an image of the Virgin, in the hope that the fire 
would become suspended before the holy form ; but it 
advanced onward in the same uniform course. The 
heat singed the leaves on the tall trees, which bowed 
down their crown-like heads to the fiery mass, as if they 
would beseech for mercy. Full of expectation, many a 


258 


T he Im provisatoi'e . 


glance rested on the image of the Virgin, but the tree 
bowed itself deeply with her before the red fire-stream ; 
it was only distant a few ells. At that moment I saw a 
Capuchin monk close beside me throw his arms aloft 
and exclaim that the image of the Madonna caught fire. 
“ Save her !” cried he, “ so will she save you from the 
flames of fire !” 

All trembled and drew back, when, at that moment, 
a woman started forward, cried aloud the name of the 
Madonna, and hastened towards the glowing death. 
Whilst this was doing, I saw a young [officer on horse- 
back, with his drawn 'sword drive her back, although 
the fire stood like a wall of rock by his side. 

“ Mad woman !” exclaimed he, “ Madonna needs not 
thy help. She wills that her badly-painted picture, 
consecrated by the hand of a sinner, shall be burned in 
the fire.” 

It was Bernardo ; I knew his voice ; his quick decision 
had saved the life of a fellow-creature, and his speech 
prevented all offence. I could not but esteem him, and 
wished in my heart that we had never been separated. 
But my heart beat more quickly, and I had neither 
courage nor desire to see him face to face. 

The fire stream swallowed up the trees, and the 
Madonna image ; I withdrew to some distance, and 
leaned involuntarily against a wall, where several 
strangers sat around a table. 

“ Antonio ! is it actually thou ?” I heard a voice 
exclaim ; I fancied that it was Bernardo ; a hand 
pressed mine, it was Fabiani, the son-in-law of Excel- 
lenza, the husband of Francesca, who had known me as 
a child, and who now, as I must imagine from the let- 
ter which I had received, was angry with me like the 
others, and, like them, had cast me off. 

“ Nay, that we should meet here !” said he. “ It will 


The Improvisator e. 


2 59 


delight Francesca to see you ! But it is not handsome 
of you that you have not been to visit us. We have 
actually been eight days at Castleamare !” 

“ I knew nothing of that,” replied I ; “ besides — ” 

“ Yes, all at once you are become quite another per- 
son ; have been in love, and,” added he, more gravely, 
“ have also fought a duel, on which account you have 
regularly eloped, which I cannot at all commend. 
Excellenza has just now announced it to us, and we were 
astonished at it. He has, however, written to you, has 
he not, and that truly not in the mildest manner ?” 

My heart beat violently ; I felt myself thrown back 
into the fetters which benefits had riveted upon me, 
and expressed the distress which I had experienced in 
being cast off by them all. 

“ Nay, nay, Antonio !” said Fabiani, “ it is not so bad 
as that. Come with me to my carriage. Francesca 
will be astonished to see you this evening ; we shall 
soon be at Castleamare, and we will find a place in the 
hotel for you. You shall tell me what you have seen. 
It is a sin to despair. Excellenza is violent ; you know 
him ; but all will be right again.” 

“ No, that cannot be,” replied I, half aloud, falling 
back again into my former suffering. 

“ It shall and will !” said Fabiani with determination, 
and led me towards his carriage. 

He required me to tell him everything. 

“But you are not going to turn improvisatore ?” 
asked he, with a smile, when I told him of my flight, 
and of Fulvia in the robber’s cave. 

“ It sounds so poetic,” said he, “ as if it were your 
fancy, and not your memory, that played the principal 
part.” 

I showed him Excellenza’s letter. “Severe, too 
severe!” said he ? when he had read it; “but cannot 


26 o 


The Improvisatore. 


you, however, see by it how much he thinks of you, and 
therefore it was so serious. But you really have not 
made your appearance in the theatre ?” 

“ Yesterday evening,” replied I. 

“ That was too daring,” interrupted he ; “ and how 
did it go off ?” 

“ Gloriously ! most fortunately !” returned I, joyfully. 
“ I received the greatest applause — was twice called 
for.” 

“ Is it possible ! You have succeeded ?” 

There was a doubt, a surprise in these words which 
wounded me deeply, but the obligations of gratitude 
bound my lips, as well as my thoughts. 

I felt a sort of embarrassment in presenting myself 
to Francesca ; I knew, indeed, how grave and severe 
she could be. Fabiani consoled me, half jestingly, by 
saying that there should be neither confession nor cas- 
tigatory sermon, although I had actually so well 
deserved it. 

We reached the hotel. 

“Ah, Fabiani!” exclaimed a young, handsomely 
dressed and curled gentleman, who sprang forward to 
meet us. “ It is well you are come, your Signora is 
quite impatient. Ah !” said he, breaking off the 
moment he saw me, “you are bringing the young 
improvisatore with you ! Cenci, is it not ?” 

“ Cenci ?” repeated Fabiana, and looked at me in 
amazement. 

“ The name under which I appeared in public,” I 
replied. 

“ Indeed !” said he ; “ well, that was very rational.” 

“ He can sing about love,” said the stranger ; “ you 
should have heard him in San Carlo last evening. That 
is a talent !” 


The Improvisa tore. 


261 


He offered me his hand obligingly, and showed his 
delight in making my agreeable acquaintance. 

“I shall sup with you this evening,” said he to 
Fabiana, “and invite myself on account of your excel- 
lent singer, and you and your wife will not refuse me.” 

“You are always welcome, as you know very well,” 
returned Fabiani. 

“ But you must, however, introduce me to the stranger 
gentleman,” said he. 

“ There is no need of ceremony here,” said Fabiani, 
“ we, he and I, are sufficiently acquainted ; my friends 
need not be introduced to him. It will be a great honor 
to him to make your acquaintance.” 

I bowed, but I was not at all satisfied with the mode 
in which Fabiani had expressed himself. 

“ Well, then, I must introduce myself !” said the 
stranger ; “ you, I have already had the honor of know- 
ing ; my name is Gennaro, officer in King Ferdinand’s 
Guard ; and,” added he, laughing, “of a good Neopoli- 
tan family ! Many people give it even number one. 
It may be that this is right ; at least, my aunts make 
very much of that ! Inexpressibly delightful is it to me 
to make the acquaintance of a young man of your 
talent, your — ” 

“ Be quiet !” interrupted Fabiana ; “ he is not accus- 
tomed to such speeches ; now you know one another. 
Francesca waits for us ; there will now be a reconcilia- 
tion-scene between her and your improvisatore ; per- 
haps you will here find occasion to make use of your 
eloquence.” 

I wished that Fabiana had not spoken in this way ; 
but they two were friends, and how could Fabiani place 
himself in my painful position ? He led us in to Fran- 
cesca ; I involuntary held back a few steps. 

“ At length, my excellent Fabiani !” she exclaimed. 


262 


The Im provisa tore* 


“ At length/' repeated he, “ and I bring two guests 
with me." 

“ Antonio !” exclaimed she, and then again her voice 
sank ; “ Signore Antonio !" 

She fixed a severe, grave glance upon me and 
Fabiana. I bowed, wished to kiss her hand, but she 
seemed not to observe it — offered it to Gennaro, and 
expressed the great pleasure she had in seeing him to 
supper. 

“ Tell me about the eruption," said she to her hus- 
band ; “ has the lava-stream changed its direction ?" 

Fabiana told her about it, and ended by saying that 
there he had met with me ; that I was his guest, and 
that now mercy must be shown before judgment. 

“Yes," exclaimed Gennaro, “I cannot at all imagine 
how he can have sinned ; but everything must be for- 
given to genius." 

“You are in your very best humor," said she, and 
nodded very graciously to me, whilst she assured 
Gennaro that she had really nothing to forgive me. 
“ What do you bring us for news ?" inquired she from 
him. “ What do the French papers say ? and where 
did you spend last evening ?” 

The first question he quickly dismissed ; the second 
he discussed with great interest. 

“ I was in the theatre," said he ; “ heard the last act 
of the Barber ! Josephine sang like an angel, but when 
one has once heard Annunciata, nothing can satisfy 
one. I went there principally to hear the improvisa- 
tore !" 

“ Did he satisfy you ?" inquired Francesca. 

“ He surpassed my— nay, everybody’s highest expec- 
tations," replied he. “ It is not said to flatter him ; and 
of what consequence, indeed, would my poor criticism 
be to him, but that was indeed improvisation ! He was 


The Improvisa tore. 


263 


thoroughly master of his art, and carried us all along 
with him. There was feeling, — there was fancy. He 
sang about Tasso, about Sappho, about the Catacombs ; 
they were poems which were worthy of being pre- 
served !” 

“ A beautiful talent !” said Francesca ; “ one cannot 
sufficiently admire it. I wish I had been there.” 

“ But we have the man with us,” said Gennaro, and 
pointed to me. 

“Antonio!” exclaimed she, inquiringly; “has he 
improvised ?” 

“ Yes, like a master,” replied Gennaro ; “ but you 
know him already, and must therefore have heard 
him.” 

“ Yes, very often,” returned she, smiling ; “ we 
admired him always as a little boy.” 

“ I myself put the wreath on his head the first time 
that I heard him,” said Fabiani, likewise in jest. “ He 
sang about my lady-love before we were married ; and, 
as a lover, I thus worshipped her in his song ! But 
now to supper ! Gennaro, you will conduct my Fran- 
cesca ; and, as we have no more ladies, I will take 
the improvisatore. Signore Antonio ! I request your 
hand.” 

He then conducted me after the others into the 
supper-room. 

“ But you have never told me about Cenci, or what- 
ever you call the young gentleman,” said Gennaro. 

“We call him Antonio,” replied Fabiani; “we did 
not really at all know that it was he who was to make 
his debut as improvisatore. You see this is exactly the 
reconciliation-scene of which I spoke. You must know 
that he is, in a manner, a son of the house. Is it not so, 
Antonio ?” 

I bowed with a grateful look, and Fabiani continued, 


264 


The Improvisator e. 


“ He is an excellent person ; there is not a stain upon 
his character ; but he will not learn anything.” 

“ But if he can now read everything much better out 
of the great book of Nature, why should he not do so ?” 

“ You must not spoil him with your praise,” said the 
Signora, jestingly ; “ we believed that he was sitting- 
deep in his classics, and physics, and mathematics, and 
instead of that he was over head and ears in love with 
a young singer from Naples.” 

“ That shows that he has feeling ?” said Gennaro. 
“ And was she handsome ? What was her name ?” 

“ Annunciata,” said Fabiani ; “ of extraordinary 

talent, and a very distinguished woman.” 

“ I myself have been in love with her,” said Gennaro. 
“He has good taste. Here is to Annunciata’s health, 
Sir Improvisatore !” 

He touched his glass against mine ; I could not say a 
word ; it tortured me that Fabiani so lightly could lay 
bare my wound before a stranger ; but he indeed saw 
the whole thing from quite a different side to what I 
did. 

“Yes,” continued Fabiani, “ and he has also fought a 
duel for her sake, wounded the nephew of the senator 
in the side, who was his rival, and so he has been 
obliged to fly. Heaven knows how he has conveyed 
himself across the frontiers ; and, thereupon, he makes 
his appearance in San Carlo. It is, in fact, an act of 
temerjty which I had not expected from him.” 

“ The senator’s nephew ?” repeated Gennaro, “ now 
that interests me. He is within these few days come 
here, has entered into the royal service. I have been 
with him this very afternoon — a handsome, interesting 
man. Ah, now I comprehend it all ! Annunciata will 
soon be here ; the lover has flown hither before her, 
settles himself down, and very soon we shall read in the 


The Iniprovisatore . 


265 


play -bills that the singer makes her appearance for the 
last — positively for the last time.” 

“ Do you fancy, then, that he will marry her ?” 
inquired Francesca ; “ but that would, however, be a 
scandal in his family.” 

“ One has instances of such things, ” said I with a 
tremulous voice ; “an instance of a nobleman, who 
considered himself ennobled and happy by gaining the 
hand of a singer.” 

“Happy, perhaps,” interrupted she, “but never 
ennobled.” 

“ Yes, my gracious Signora,” interposed Gennaro, “ I 
should consider myself ennobled if she chose me, and 
so I fancy would many others.” 

They talked a deal — a great deal of her and Bernardo ; 
they forgot how heavily every word must fall upon my 
heart. 

“ But,” said Gennaro, turning to me, “ you must 
delight us with an improvisation. Signora will give you 
a subject.” 

“Yes,” said Francesca, smiling, “sing us Love, that 
is a subject which interests Gennaro, as you indeed 
know.” 

“ Yes, Love and Annunciata !” exclaimed Gennaro. 

“ Another time I will do everything which you can 
desire from me,” said I, “ but this evening it is impos- 
sible to me. I am not quite well. I sailed across the 
bay without my cloak, it was so warm by the lava- 
stream, and then I drove here in the cool of the 
evening.” 

Gennaro besought me most pressingly to improvise 
notwithstanding, but I could not in this place, and upon 
this subject. 

“ He has already the artist’s way with him,” said 
Fabiani; “he must be pressed. Will you, or will you 


266 


The Improvisators. 


not, go with, ns to-morrow to Paestum ? there you will 
find material enough for your poetry. You should 
make yourself a little scarce. There cannot "be much 
which binds you to Naples.” 

I bowed and felt myself in a difficulty, whilst I did 
not see how I could refuse. 

“ Yes, he goes with us,” exclaimed Gennaro ; “ and 
when he stands in the great temple, and the spirit 
comes over him, he will sing like a Pindar !” 

“ We set off to-morrow morning,” continued Fabiani ; 
“ the whole tour will occupy four days. On our return 
we will visit Amalfi and Capri. You must go with us.” 

A no, might, perhaps, as the consequence will show, 
have changed my whole fate. These four days robbed 
me, dare I say it, of six years of my youth. And man 
is a free agent ! Yes, we can freely seize upon the 
threads which lie before us, but how they are firmly 
twisted together, we do not see. x gave my thanks, 
and said yes j and seized hold upon the thread which 
drew the curtain of my future more closely together. 

“ To-morrow we shall have more talk together,” said 
Francesca, when after supper we separated, and she 
extended to me her hand to kiss. 

“ This very evening I shall, however, write to Excel- 
lenza,” said Fabiani ; “ I will prepare the reconciliation- 
scene.” 

“And I will dream about Annunciata,” exclaimed 
Gennaro ; “ for that I shall not be challenged,” added 
he laughing, as he pressed my hand 0 

I, too, wrote a few words to Federigo ; told him of 
my meeting with the family of Excellenza, and that I 
should make a little journey towards the South with 
them. I ended the letter ; a thousand feelings operated 
in my breast. How much had not this evening brought 
me ! How many events ran athwart each other ! 


The Improvisotore . 


267 


I thought on Santa, on Bernardo, by the burning 
picture of the Madonna, and then on the last hours spent 
amid old connexions. Yesterday a whole public, to 
whom I was a stranger, had received me with acclama- 
tion ; I was admired and honored. This very evening, 
a woman, rich in beauty, had made me conscious of her 
love for me ; and a few hours afterwards I stood among 
acquaintance, friends, whom I had to thank for every- 
thing ; and as nothing before them but the poor child, 
whose first duty was gratitude. 

But Fabiani and Francesca had really met me with 
affection ; they had received me as the prodigal son, 
had given me a place at their table ; invited me to 
join them in a pleasure tour on the morrow. Benefit 
was added to benefit ; I was dear to them. But the 
gift which the rich present with a light hand lies heavily 
upon the heart of the poor ! 


CHAPTER XX. 

JOURNEY TO P^ESTUM THE GRECIAN TEMPLE THE BLIND 

GIRL. 

The beauty of Italy is not found in Campagna, nor 
yet in Rome. I knew it only from my ramble by Lake 
Nemi, and from what I had seen in my journey to 
Naples. Doubly, therefore, must I have felt its rich 
beauty, almost more even than a foreigner, who could 
compare its loveliness with that of other countries. Like 
a fairy world, therefore, which I have seen in dreams, 
nay, which lived in them, lie this three days’ journey 
before me. But how can I describe the impressions 


268 


The Im pro visa tore . 


which my soul received, nay, as it were, actually were 
infused into my blood ? 

The bounty of nature can never be given by descrip- 
tion. Words place themselves in array indeed, like 
loose pieces of mosaic, one after another, but one under- 
stands not the whole picture put together piecemeal. 
Thus it is in nature ; of the entire greatness there must 
be always something wanting. One gives the single 
pieces, and thus letsthe stranger put them together him- 
self ; but if hundreds saw the complete picture, each 
would represent it very differently. It is with nature, 
as with a beautiful face, no idea can be formed of it by 
the mere details of it ; we must go to a well-known 
object, and only when we can say, with mathematical 
precision, they are like one another, with the exception 
of this or that particular, can we have, in any degree, 
a satisfactory idea. 

If it were given to me to improvise on the beauty of 
Hesperia, I would describe with exact truth the real 
scenes which my eye here beheld ; and thou who hast 
never seen the beauty of South Italy, thy fancy might 
beautify every natural charm with which thou wast 
acquainted, and it would not be rich enough. The 
ideal of nature exceeds that of man. 

In the beautiful morning we set off from Castleamare 
I see yet the smoking Vesuvius, the lovely rocky valley 
with the great vine-woods, where the juicy green 
branches ran from tree to tree ; the white mountain- 
castles perched on the green cliffs, or half-buried in 
olive-woods. I see the old temple of Vesta, with its 
marble pillars and its cupola, now the church of Santa 
Maria Maggiore. A piece of the wall was overthrown ; 
skulls and human bones closed the opening, but the 
green vine-shoots grew wildly over them, and seemed as 


The Improvisatore . 


269 


if. with their fresh leaves, they would conceal the power 
and terror of death. 

I see yet the wild outline of the mountains, the soli- 
tary towers, where nets were spread out to catch 
the flocks of sea-birds. Deep below us lay Salerno, 
with the dark blue sea, and here we met a procession 
that doubly impressed the whole picture upon my mind. 
Two white oxen, with their horns an ell in span, drew a 
carriage, upon which four robbers, with their dark 
countenances and horrible scornful laugh, lay in chains, 
whilst dark-eyed, finely-formed Calabrians rode beside 
them, with their weapons on their shoulders. 

Salerno, the learned city of the middle ages, was the 
extent of our first day’s journey. 

“ Old folios have mouldered away,” exclaimed Gen- 
naro, “ the learned glory of Salerno is grown dim, but 
the volume of nature goes into a new edition every 
year ; and Our Antonio thinks, like me, that one can 
read more in that than in any learned musty book 
whatever.” 

“We may learn out of both,” replied I, “wine and 
bread must go together.” 

Francesca discovered that I spoke very rationally. 

“ In talking there is no coming short on him,” said 
Fabiani, “ but in deeds! You will have an opportunity 
of showing us that, Antonio, when you come to Rome.” 

To Rome! I go to Rome? This thought had never 
occurred to me. My lips were silent ; but my inmost 
heart said to me that I could not, would not again see 
Rome, again enter into the old connexions. 

Fabiani continued to talk, so did the others, and we 
arrived at Salerno. Our first visit was to the church. 

“ Here I can be cicerone,” said Gennaro ; “ this is the 
chapel of Gregory the Seventh, the holy father who 
died in Salerno. His marble statue stands before us 


2 JO 


The Improvisa tore. 


upon the altar ; there lies Alexander the Great,” con- 
tinued he, pointing to a huge sarcophagus. 

“Alexander the Great?” repeated Fabiani, inquir- 
ingly. 

“Yes, certainly; is it not so?” asked he from the 
attendant. 

“ As Excellenza says,” replied he. 

“ That is a mistake,” remarked I, observing the monu- 
ment more clearly. “Alexander really cannot be 
buried here, that is against all history. See only, it is 
the triumphal procession of Alexander which is repre- 
sented on the sarcophagus, and thence is derived the 
name.” 

As soon as we entered into the church, they showed 
us a similar sarcophagus, upon which was delineated a 
bacchanalian triumph, which had been brought hither 
from the temple in Psestum, and now had been con- 
verted into the burial place for a Salemian prince, 
whose modern marble statue, the size of life, was raised 
upon it. I reverted to this, and gave it as my opinion, 
that the circumstances of this so-called grave of Alex- 
ander must be similar to it. Quite pleased with my 
own penetration, I made a sort of oration on the subject 
of the graves, to which Gennaro coldly replied, “ Per- 
haps ; ” and Francesca whispbred in my ear that it was 
unbecoming of me, wishing to appear wiser than he ; 
that I must not do so. Silently and respectfully I drew 
back. 

At Ave Maria I sat alone with Francesca in the bal- 
cony of the great hotel. Fabiani and Gennaro were 
gone out to walk ; it was my place to entertain the 
gracious lady. 

“ What a beautiful play of colors !” said I, and pointed 
to the sea, which, white as milk, stretched itself out 
from the broad lava-paved street to the rosy-hued, bril- 


The Improvisator e. 


271 


liant horizon, whilst the rocky coast was of a deep indigo 
blue ; such a pomp of coloring I had never seen in 
Rome. 

“ The clouds have already said ‘ Felissima notte /' ” 
remarked Francesca, and pointed to the mountain, 
where a cloud hung high above the villas and the olive- 
woods, and yet far below the old castle, which, with its 
two towers, was nearly perched on the top of the moun- 
tain. 

“ There I should like to dwell and live !” exclaimed I, 
“ high above the cloud, and look out over the eternally 
changing sea.” 

“ There you could improvise !” said she, smiling ; 
“ but then nobody would hear you, and that would be a 
great misfortune, Antonio !” 

“ Oh, yes !” replied I, likewise jestingly, “if I must be 
candid, entirely without applause, is like a tree without 
sunshine ! That, of a certainty, gnawed into the flower 
of Tasso’s life, in his captivity, as much as did the 
unhappiness of his love !” 

“ Dear friend,” interrupted she, somewhat gravely, 
“ I am now speaking of you, and not of Tasso ! What 
have we to do with him in this question ?*’ 

“ Only as an example,” replied I ; “ Tasso was a poet, 
and — ” 

“ You believe it to be so,” interrupted she, hastily ; 
“ but, for Heaven’s sake, dear Antonio, do not ever 
mention an immortal name in conjunction with your 
own ! Do not fancy that you are a poet, an improvisa- 
tor, because you have an easily excited temperament 
of mind, and the art of catching up ideas ! Thousands 
can do this as well as you ! Do not go and make your- 
self unfortunate through it !” 

“ But thousands only lately have awarded to me their 
applause !” replied I, and my cheeks burned ; “ and it 


272 


The Improvisatore. 


really is quite natural that I should have these thoughts, 
this conviction ; and I am sure that you will rejoice in 
my success and in that which conduces to my well 
being !” 

“None of your friends would do so more than I !” 
said she; “we all value your excellent heart, your 
noble character, and for the sake of these I will venture 
to promise that Excellenza will forgive you ! You have 
glorious abilities, which must be developed, but that 
they must actually be, Antonio ! Nothing comes of 
itself! People must labor ! Your talent is a charming 
company talent ; you may delight many of your friends 
by it, but it is not great enough for the public.” 

“ But,” I ventured to suggest, “ Gennaro, who did 
not know me, was yet enchanted with my first appear- 
ance in public.” 

“ Gennaro !” repeated she, “ yes, with all my esteem 
for him, I set no value at all upon his judgment of art ! 
And the great public ? Yes, in the capital, artists very 
soon hear quite a different opinion ! It was very well 
that you were not hissed ; that would really have dis- 
tressed me. Now it will all blow quietly over, and very 
soon will be entirely forgotten, both you and your 
improvisation ! Then you assumed a feigned name 
also ! In about three days we shall be again in Naples, 
and the day afterwards we return to Rome. Regard it 
all as a dream, as it really has been, and show us, by 
industry and stability, that you are awake again. Do 
not say a word, now — I intend kindly by you ; I am the 
only one who tells you the truth.” 

She gave her hand for me to kiss. 

The next morning we set off in the early, grey dawn, 
in order that we might reach Paestum in time to spend a 
few hours there, and be back again the same day in 


The Improvisatore . 


2 73 


Salerno, because visitors cannot pass the night at Pses- 
tum, and the road thither is unsafe. Gens d'armes on 
horseback accompanied us as escort. 

Orange-gardens, woods I might call them, lay on 
either hand. We passed over the river Sela, in whose 
clear waters were reflected weeping willows and laurel 
hedges. The wild hills inclosed a fertile corn-country. 
Aloes and cactuses grew wildly by the road-side ; every- 
thing was luxuriant and abundant, and now we saw 
before us the ancient temple, above two thousand years 
old, built in the purest, most beautiful style ; this a 
miserable public-house, three wretched dwellings, and 
some huts of reeds, were now all that remained of this 
renowned city. We saw not a single rose-hedge, and 
the multitude and affluent beauty of the roses had once 
given its celebrity to Paestum. At that time a crimson 
glow lay upon these fields, now they were blue, infinitely 
blue, like the distant mountains ; fragrant violets 
covered the great plain, springing up amid thistles and 
thorns. A wilderness of fertility lay all around ; aloes, 
wild figs, and the red pyretrum indicum , twined one 
among another. 

Here are found the characteristics of Sicilian land- 
scape ; its abundance and luxuriance ; its Grecian tem- 
ples and its poverty. A whole crowd of beggars stood 
around us, who resembled the natives of the South Sea 
Islands. Men clad in long sheep-skins, with the wool 
outside, with naked, dark brown limbs, and the long 
black hair hanging loosely around the brown yellow 
countenance ; girls of the most beautiful forms, only 
half clad, with the short skirt hanging in tatters to the 
knee ; a sort of cloak, or ugly brown stuff, thrown 
loosely around the bare shoulders, and the long black 
hair bound together in a knot, and with eyes that 
flashed fire. 


2 74 The Improvisatore. 


One young girl there was, scarcely more than eleven 
years old, lovely as the Goddess of Beauty, and yet 
resembling neither Annunciata nor Santa. I could 
think of nothing else but the jMedicean Venus, as 
Annunciata had described it, as I looked at her. I 
could not love, but admire, and bow before the form of 
beauty. 

She stood at a little distance from the other beggars ; 
a brown square piece of cloth hung loosely over one 
shoulder, the other breast and arm were, like her feet, 
uncovered. That she thought of ornament, and had 
the taste for it, was proved by the smoothly bound-up 
hair, in which a bouquet of blue violets was fastened, 
and which hung in curls upon her beautiful forehead. 
Modesty, soul, and a singular, deep expression of suf- 
fering, were expressed in her countenance. Her eyes 
were cast down, as if she sought for something upon 
the ground. 

Gennaro perceived her first, and although she spoke 
not a word, he offered her a gift, patted her under the 
chin, and said that she was too handsome for the rest of 
her company. Fabiani and Francesca were of his 
opinion. I saw a fine crimson diffuse itself under the 
clear brown skin, and raising her eyes, I saw that she 
was blind. 

Gladly would I, too, have given her money, but I 
ventured not to do it. When the others were gone to 
the little hostel, followed by the whole troop of 
beggars, I turned myself quickly round and pressed a 
scudo into her hand ; by the feeling she seemed to 
know its worth » her cheeks burned, she bent forward, 
and the fresh lips of health and beauty touched my 
hand ; the touch seemed to go through my blood ; I 
tore myself away and followed the others. 

Fagots and twigs burned in a great flaming pile in 


The Improvisatore , 


275 


the wide chimney, which almost occupied the whole 
breadth of the chamber. The smoke whirled out under 
the sooty roof, which compelled us to go outside, and 
behind the tall, shadowy, weeping willow our breakfast 
was prepared, whilst we went to the temple. We had 
to pass through a complete wilderness. Fabiani and 
Gennaro took hold of each other’s hands, to make a sort 
of seat for Francesca, and thus carried her. 

“ A fearful pleasure-excursion !” cried she, laughing. 

“ O, Excellenza !” said one of our guides, “ it is now 
magnificent; three years ago there was no getting 
through here for thorns, and in my childhood sand and 
earth lay right up to the pillars.” 

The rest affirmed to the truth of his remark, and we 
went forward, followed by the whole troop of beggars, 
who silently observed us ; the moment our eye met 
that of one of the beggars, he immediately stretched 
out his hand mechanically to beg, and a miserabile 
resounded from his lips. The beautiful blind girl I 
could not see ; she now, indeed, sat alone by the way- 
side. We went over the ruins of a theatre and a temple 
of peace. 

“ A theatre and peace !” exclaimed Gennaro ; “ how 
could these two ever exist so near to each other !” 

The Temple of Neptune lay before us ; this, the 
so-called Basilica, and the Temple of Ceres, are the 
glorious, proud remains which, like a Pompeii, stand 
forth again to our age, out of the oblivion and night. 

Buried amid rubbish, and entirely overgrown, they 
lay concealed for centuries, until a foreign painter, who 
sought for subjects for his pencil, came to this place 
and discovered the uppermost of the pillars ; their 
beauty attracted him ; he made a sketch of them ; they 
became known ; the rubbish and the wild growth of 
plants were removed, and again stood forth, as if 


276 


The Improvisa tore. 


rebuilded, the large open halls. The columns are of 
yellow Travertine marble ; wild vines grow up around 
them ; fig-trees shoot up from the floor, and in clefts 
and crevices spring forth violets and the dark-red gilly- 
flower. 

We seated ourselves upon the pedestal of one of the 
broken columns. Gennaro had driven the beggars 
away that we might enjoy in stillness the rich scene 
around us. The blue mountains, the near sea, the place 
itself in which we were, seized strongly upon me. 

“ Improvise now to us !” Fabiani said ; and Francesca 
nodded to me the same wish. 

I leaned against one of the nearest pillars, and sang, 
to a melody of my childhood, that which my eye now 
beheld ; the beauty of nature ; the glorious memorial 
of art ; and I thought on the poor blind maiden, from 
whom all magnificent objects were Concealed. She 
was doubly poor, doubly forlorn. Tears came to my 
eyes ; Gennaro clapped his hands in applause ; and 
Fabiani and Francesca said apart to each other, “ He 
has feeling.” 

They now descended the steps of the temple. I fol- 
low them slowly. Behind the pillar against which I had 
stood, sat, or rather lay, a human being, with her head 
sunk to her knees, and her hands clasped together ; it 
was the blind maiden. She had heard my [song — had 
heard me sing of her painful yearning and of her 
deprivations ; it smote me to the soul. I bent myself 
over her ; she heard the rustling of the leaves, raised 
her head, and to me it seemed that she looked much 
paler. I ventured not to move. She listened. 

“ Angelo !” she exclaimed, half aloud. 

•I know not why, but I held my breath ; and she sat 
for a moment silent. It was the Grecian goddess of 
beauty which I saw, with eyes without the power of vis- 


The Improvisatore. 


2 77 


ion, such as Annunciata had described her to me. She 
sat on the pedestal of the temple, between the wild fig- 
tree and the fragrant myrtle-fence. She pressed a 
something to her lips, and smiled ; it was the scudo 
which I had given her. I grew quite warm at the sight 
of it, bowed myself involuntarily, and pressed a hot kiss 
upon her forehead. 

She started up with a cry, a thrilling cry, which sent, 
as it were, a death-pang through my soul. She sprung 
up like a terrified deer, and was gone. I saw nothing 
more, everything was in motion around me, and I, too, 
made my escape through thorns and bushes. 

“ Antonio ! Antonio !” I heard Fabiani calling to me 
a long way behind ; and again I bethought myself of 
time and place. 

“ Have you started a hare ?” asked he ; “ or was it a 
poetical flight which you were taking ?” 

“ He will show us,” said Gennaro, “ that he can fly 
where we can only get along at a foot’s pace ; yet I 
would venture to take the same flight with him and 
so saying, he placed himself at my side, to race with me. 

“ Do you think that I, with my Signora on my arm, 
can go step for step with you ?” exclaimed Fabiani. 
Gennaro remained standing. 

When we came to the little hostel, my eyes in vain 
sought for the blind girl ; her cry continually resounded 
in my ear ; I heard it within my very heart. It was to 
me as if I had committed a sin. I it was really, who 
had, although innocently, sang care and sorrow into her 
heart, by making her deprivations morq intelligible to 
her. I had excited terror and anxiety in her soul, and 
had impressed a kiss upon her brow, the first which I 
had ever given to a woman. If she could have seen me, 
I had not dared to do it ; her misfortune — her defence- 
lessness — had given me courage. And I had passed 


278 


The Improvisator e. 


such severe judgment on Bernardo ! — I, who was a child 
of sin like him, like every one ! I could have kneeled at 
her feet, and prayed for forgiveness ; but she was 
nowhere to be seen. 

We mounted the carriage to drive back to Salerno ; 
yet once more I looked out to see if I could discover 
her ; but I did not venture to inquire where she could 
be. 

At that moment Gennaro exclaimed, “ Where is that 
blind girl ?” 

“ Lara ?” said our guide. “ She still sits in the Tem- 
ple of Neptune ; she is generally there.” 

“ Belle Divina /” cried Gennaro, and wafted a kiss with 
his hand towards the temple. We rolled away. 

She was then called Lara. I sat with my back to the 
driver, and saw when the columns of the temple became 
more and more distant ; but within my heart intoned 
the anguished cry of the girl, my own suffering. 

A troop of gipsies had encamped themselves by the 
road-side, and had made a great fire in the ditch, over 
which they were boiling and roasting. The old gipsy 
mother struck upon the tambourine, and wanted to tell 
us our fortunes, but we drove past. Two black-eyed 
girls followed us for a considerable time. They were 
handsome, and Gennaro made himself merry about 
their easy motions and their flashing eyes ; but beauti- 
ful and noble as Lara were they not. 

Towards evening we reached Salerno. The next 
morning we were to go to Amalfi, and thence to Capri. 

“We shall remain,” said Fabiani, “ only one day in 
Naples, if we return there at all. Towards the end of 
the week we must be again in Rome. You can very 
soon get your things in order, Antonio ?” 

I could not — I wished not, to return to Rome ; but a 
bashfulness, a fear, which my poverty and my gratitude 


7 'h e Improvisa tore. 


279 


had instilled into me through all the years of my life, 
permitted me to do no more than stammer forth that 
Excellenza certainly would be angry at my audacity in 
coming back again. 

“We will take care of all that !” exclaimed Fabiana 
to me. 

“ Forgive me, but I cannot !” I stammered, and seized 
Francesca’s hand. “ I feel deeply that which I owe 
you.” 

“ Say nothing of that, Antonio,” she replied, and laid 
her hand upon my mouth. 

Strangers at that moment were announced ; and I 
withdrew silently into a corner, feeling how weak I 
was. 

Free and independent as a bird had I been only two 
days before ! and He who permits not a sparrow to 
fall unheeded to the ground, would have cared for me ; 
and yet I let the first thin thread which twined itself 
round my feet grow to the strength of a cable. 

In Rome, thought I, thou hast true friends, true and 
honest, if not so courteous as those in Naples. I thought 
on Santa, whom I never more would see. I thought on 
Bernardo, whom I actually should meet in Naples every 
day — on Annunciata, who would come here — on his and 
her happiness in love. “ To Rome ! to Rome ! it is much 
better there !” said my heart to me, whilst my soul 
struggled after freedom and independence. 





CHAPTER XXI. 

THE ADVENTURE IN AMALFI — THE BLUE GROTTO OF CAPRI, 

How beautifully Salerno looked out from the sea, as 
in the delicious morning hour, we sailed away from it. 
Six stout fellows pulled the oars. A little boy, hand- 
some enough to be painted, sat at the helm ; he was 
called Alphonso. The water was green as glass. The 
whole coast to the right seemed like magnificent hang- 
ing gardens, laid out by the bold Semiramis of fancy. 
The vast open caves lay like colonnades down in the 
sea, within which played the heavy billows. Upon the 
projecting point of rock stood a castle, below whose tur- 
reted walls floated a small cloud. We saw Minori and 
Majori ; and, immediately afterwards, Amalfi, the birth- 
place of Masaniello and Flavio Gjojas, the discoverer of 
the mariner's compass, which looked forth from amidst 
green vineyards. 

This great affluence of beauty overpowered me. 
Would that all the generations of the earth could see 
these glorious scenes ! No storm from the north or 
west brings cold or winter to the blooming garden upon 
whose terrace Amalfi is placed The breezes come 
only here from the east and the south, the warm 
breezes from the region of oranges and palms, across 
the beautiful sea. 


The Improvised ore . 


281 


Along the shore, high up on the side of the mountain, 
hangs the city, with its white houses with their flat, 
oriental roofs ; higher still ascend the vineyards. One 
solitary pine-tree lifts up its green crown into the blue 
air, where, on the ridge of the mountain, the old castle, 
with its encircling wall, serves as a couch for the clouds, 

The fishermen had to carry us through the surf from 
the boats to the land. Deep caves in the cliffs extended 
even to below the city ; into some of these the water 
flowed, others were empty. Boats lay beside them, in 
which played crowds of merry children, most of them only 
in a skirt or little jacket, which constituted their' whole 
clothing. Half-naked lazzaroni stretched themselves 
in the warm sand, their brown cowls pulled up about 
their ears, this being their most important covering 
during their noon-day’s sleep. All the church-bells 
were ringing ; a procession of young priests in violet- 
colored dresses went past us, singing psalms. A fresh 
garland of flowers hung around the picture which was 
fastened to the cross. 

To the left, high above the city, stands a magnifi- 
cently great convent, just before a deep, mountain cave ; 
this is the herberg for all strangers. Francesca was carried 
up in a litter ; we others followed after, along the road 
cut in the rock, with the clear, blue sea lying deeply 
below us. We had now reached the gate of the con- 
vent, exactly opposite to which a deep cave gapes in the 
rock. Within this there were three crosses, on which 
were the Redeemer and the two thieves ; and above 
them, upon the stone of the rock, were kneeling angels 
in bright-colored garments, and great white wings. 
No artistical work this, but all carved out of wood, and 
painted ; but, nevertheless, a pious, trusting heart 
breathed its own peculiar beauty over the rudely 
formed images. 


282 


The Improvisatore. 


We ascended directly up through the convent-court 
to the rooms which were appropriated to our use. From 
my window I saw the eternal sea, stretching away to 
Sicily, the ships standing like silver-white points upon 
the far horizon. 

“ Sir Improvisatore,” said Gennaro, “ shall not we 
descend into the lower regions, and see whether the 
beauty there is as great as it is here ? The female 
beauty is so, of a certainty ! For the English ladie. 
that we have here for neighbors are cold and pale ! 
And you have a taste for the ladies ! I beg your par- 
don. It is this exactly which has driven you out into 
the world, and will give me a charming evening, and an 
interesting acquaintance !” 

We descended the rocky path. 

“ The blind girl in Paestum was, however, very hand- 
some !” said Gennaro. “ I think that I shall send for 
her to Naples when I send for my Calabrian wine ! 
Both one and the other would set my heart in a glow !” 

We arrived at the city, which lay, if I may so say, sin- 
gularly piled upon itself. Beside of it, the narrow 
Ghetto in Rome would have been a Corso. The streets 
were narrow passages between the tall houses, and 
right through them. Now one comes through a door into 
a long landing-place, with small openings on the sides 
leading into dark chambers, then into a narrow lane 
between brick-work and walls of rock, steps up and 
steps down, a half dark labyrinth of dirty passages ; I 
often did not know whether it was a room or a lane in 
which we were. In most places lamps were burning ; 
and if it had not been so, although it was mid-day, it 
would have been dark as night. 

At length we breathed more freely. We stood on a 
great brick-work bridge, which connected together two 
ridges of rock ; the little square below us was certainly 


The Iniprovisatore . 


283 


the largest in the whole city. Two girls were dancing 
there the saltarello y and a little hoy, entirely naked, 
beautifully formed, and with brown limbs, stood looking 
on, like a little Cupid. Here, they told me, it never 
freezes. The severest cold Amalfi has known for many 
years has been eight degrees above zero. 

Close beside the little tower, upon the projecting 
platform of rock from which is to be seen the lovely bay 
of Minori and Majori, a little serpentine path winds be- 
tween aloes and myrtles ; and, following it, we were 
soon overshadowed by the lofty arch of entwining vines. 
We felt a burning thirst, and hastened onwards towards 
a little white dwelling-house, which, at the end of the 
vineyard, invited us, as it were, so kindly from among 
the fresh green. The mild, warm air was filled with 
fragrance, and beautifully bright insects hummed around 
us. 

We stood before the house, which -was highly pic- 
turesque. There had been built into the wall, by way 
of ornament, some marble capitals, and a beautifully 
chiselled arm and foot, which had been found among 
the rubbish. Upon the roof even was a charming gar- 
den of oranges and luxurious twining plants, which, like 
a curtain of green velvet, hung down over the wall ; in 
the front blossomed a wilderness of monthly roses. 
Two lovely little girls, of from six to seven years old, 
played and wore garlands ; but the most beautiful, how- 
ever, was a young woman with a white linen cloth upon 
her head, who came to meet us from the door ! The intel- 
tectual glance, the long, dark eye-lashes, the noble 
form, yes, all made her indescribably beautiful ! We 
both involuntarily took off our hats. 

“ This most beautiful maiden, then, is the possessor 
of this house ?” inquired Gennaro. “ Will she, then, as 


284 


The Improvisator e. 


mistress of the house, give us two weary travelers a 
refreshing draught ?” 

“ The mistress of the house will do that with pleasure !” 
said she, smiling, and the snow-white teeth parted the 
red, rosy lips. “ I will bring out wine to you here ; but 
I have only one kind.” 

“ If you serve it, it will be excellent !” said Gennaro. 

“ I drink it most willingly when a young maiden as 
handsome as you serves it.” 

“ But Excellenza must be so good as to talk to a wife 
to-day !” said she, sweetly. 

“ Are you married,” asked Gennaro, smiling, “ so 
young ?” 

“ Oh, I am very old !” said she, and laughed also. 

“ How old ?” inquired I. 

She looked archly into my face and replied, “ Eight- 
and- twenty years old ?” She was much nearer fifteen, 
but most beautifully developed ; a Hebe could not have 
been formed more exquisitely. 

“ Eight-and-twenty !” said Gennaro. “ A beautiful 
age, which is very becoming to you ! Have you been 
long married ?” 

“ Twenty years !” replied she ; “ only ask my daughters 
there.” And the little girls whom we had seen playing, 
came towards us. 

“ Is that your mother ?” inquired I, although I very 
well knew that it was not so. They looked up to her, 
and laughed, nodded thereto an assent, and clung 
affectionately to her. 

She brought us out wine, excellent wine, and we 
drank her health. 

“This is a poet, an improvisatore,” said Gennaro to 
her, pointing to me ; “ he has been turning the heads of 
all the ladies in Naples ! But he is a stone, a queer 


The Improvisatore . 


285 


sort of fellow. He hates all women ; never gave a 
woman a kiss in his life !” 

“ That is impossible !” said she, and laughed. 

“ I, on the contrary,” continued Gennaro, “ am of 
quite a different sort ; I kiss all the handsome lips that 
come near me, am the faithful attendant of woman, and 
thus reconcile the world and her wherever I go ! It is 
awarded to me, also, and I assert it as my right with 
every handsome woman, and I now, of course, require 
here my tribute also !” and so saying, he took her hand. 

“ I absolve both you and the other gentleman,” said 
she ; “ neither have I anything to do with paying 
tribute. My husband always does that.” 

“ And where is he ?” asked Gennaro. 

“ Not far off,” she replied. 

“Such a handsome hand I have never seen in 
Naples ;” said Gennaro ; “ what is the price of a kiss 
upon it ?” 

“ A scudo,” said she. 

“ And double that price upon the lips ?” said Gennaro. 

“ That is not to be had,” returned she ; “ that is my 
husband’s property !” 

And now she poured us out again the enlivening, 
strong wine, joked, and laughed with us ; and, amid her 
joking, we discovered that she was about fifteen, had 
been married the year before to a handsome young man, 
who, at this moment, was in Naples, and was not 
expected to return before the morrow. The little girls 
were her sisters, and on a visit to her till her husband’s 
return. Gennaro prayed them for a bouquet of roses, 
which they hastened to gather, and for which he prom- 
ised them a carlin. 

In vain he prayed her for a kiss ; said a thousand 
sweet, flattering things ; threw his arm around her 
waist ; she tore herself away, scolding him, but yet 


286 


The Improvisator e. 


always came back again, because she found it amusing. 
He took a louis-d’or between his fingers, and told her 
what charming ribands she could buy with it, and how 
beautifully she might adorn her dark hair with them ; 
and all this splendor she might have only by giving 
him a kiss — one single kiss. 

“ The other Excellenza is much better !” said she, 
and pointed to me. My blood burned ; I took her hand, 
saying that she must not listen to him, that he was a 
bad man, must not look at his tempting gold, but must 
revenge herself upon him by giving me a kiss. 

She looked at me. 

“ He has,” continued I, “ said only one true word in 
all his speeches ; and that is, that I have never kissed 
the lips of any woman. I have kept my lips pure until 
I found the most beautiful ; and now I hope that you 
will reward my virtue !” 

“ He is actually an accomplished tempter !” said Gen- 
naro. “ He excels me by being so accustomed to his 
work.” 

“ You are a bad man with your money,” said she ; 
“ and for that you shall see that I care neither for it nor 
for a kiss, and so the poet shall have it !” 

With this, she pressed her hands on my cheeks, her 
lips touched mine, and she vanished behind the house. 

When the sun went down, I sat up in my little cham- 
ber in the convent, and looked from the window over 
the sea ; it was rosy red, and threw up long billows on 
the shore. The fishermen pulled up their boats on the 
sand ; and, as the darkness increased, the lights became 
brighter, the billows were of a sulphur-blue. Over 
everything prevailed infinite stillness ; in the midst of 
which I heard a choral song of fishermen on the shore, 
with women and children. The soprano of the chil- 
dren’s voices mingled itself with the deep bass, and a. 


The Iniprovisatore. 


287 


sentiment of melancholy filled my soul. A falling star 
for a moment played in the heavens, and then shot 
downward behind the vineyard, where the lively young 
woman had kissed me in the day-time. I thought of 
her, how lovely she was, and of the blind girl, the image 
of beauty amid the ruins of the temple ; but Annun- 
ciata stood in the background, intellectually and physi- 
cally beautiful, and thus doubly beautiful! My spirit 
expanded itself ; my soul burned with love, with long- 
ing, with a deep sense of what it had lost. The pure 
flame which Annunciata had kindled in my heart, the 
altar-fire of which she was the priestess, she had herself 
stirred out and left, the fire now burned wildly through 
the whole building. 

“Eternal Mother of God!” prayed I; “my breast is 
full of love, my heart is ready to burst with longing and 
regret!” And I seized upon the roses which stood in 
the glass, pressed the most beautiful of them to my lips, 
and thought on Annunciata. 

I could not bear it any longer, and went down to the 
seaside, where the shining billows broke along the 
shore, where the fishermen saug and the wind blew. I 
mounted the brick-work bridge, where I had stood 
during the day. A figure wrapped in a large cloak stole 
close by me ; I saw that it was Gennaro. He went up 
the serpentine road to the little white house, and I 
followed him. He now softly passed the window, 
within which a light was burning. Here I took my 
station, concealed by the depending vine-leaves, and 
could see distinctly into the room. There was, exactly 
on the other side of the house, a similar window, and 
some high steps led to the side- chamber. 

The two little girls, undressed to their night-clothes, 
were kneeling with their elder sister, the mistress of the 
house, as she really was, between them, before the 


288 


The Improvisatore. 


table, on which stood the crucifix and the lamp, and 
were singing their evening devotions. It was the 
Madonna with two angels, a living altar-piece, as if 
painted by Raphael, which I saw before me. Her dark 
eyes were cast upwards ; the hair hung in rich folds 
upon the naked shoulders, and the hands were folded 
upon the youthfully beautiful bosom. 

My pulse beat more quickly ; I scarcely ventured to 
breathe. Now all three arose from their knees ; she 
went with the little girls up the steps into the side- 
room, closed the door, and then went into the first room, 
where she busied herself about her small household 
affairs. I saw her presently take out of a drawer a red 
pocket-book, turn it about in her hand a many times 
and smile ; she was just about to open it, but shook her 
head at that moment, and threw it again into the 
drawer, as if something had surprised her. 

A moment afterwards I heard a low tapping upon the 
opposite window. Terrified, she looked towards it, and 
listened. It tapped again, and I heard some one speak, 
but could not distinguish the words. 

“ Excellenza !” now exclaimed she aloud ; “ what do 
you want ? Why do you come here at this hour ? For 
Heaven’s sake ! I am angry, very angry.” 

He again said something. 

“Yes, yes, it is true,” she said, “you have forgotten 
your pocket-book ; my little sister has been down to the 
inn to give it to you, but you were up in the convent. 
To-morrow morning she would have gone there to you. 
Here it is.” 

She took it from the drawer. He again said some- 
thing, to which she shook her head. 

“ No, no !” said she ; “ what are you thinking of ? I 
shall not open the door ; you shall not come in !” 

So saying she went to the window, and opened it, to 


The Improvisatore. 


289 


give him the pocket-book. He snatched at her hand, 
she let the book fall, and it remained lying on the 
window-still. Gennaro put his head in ; the young wife 
flew to the window behind which I stood, and I could 
now hear every word which Gennaro said. 

“ And you will not allow me to kiss your lovely hands 
as thanks ; not receive the smallest reward ; not reach 
me a single cup of wine ? Iam parched with thirst. 
There cannot be anything wrong in that ! Why not 
permit me to come in ?” 

“ No !” said she ; “ we having nothing to talk about 
at this hour. Take that which you have forgotten, and 
let me close the window.” 

“ I will not go,” said Gennaro, “ before you give tne 
your hand, before you give me a kiss. You cheated me 
out of one to-day, and gave it to that stupid youth !” 

“ No ! no !” said she, and yet laughed in the midst of 
her anger. “ You want to obtain by force what I would 
not give freely,” said she ; “ therefore I shall not — will 
not, do it.” 

“ It is the last time,” said Gennaro, in a soft and 
beseeching tone, “ of a certainty the last time ; and can 
you refuse only just giving me your hand ? More I do 
not desire, although my heart has a thousand things to 
say to you ! Madonna wills it really that we human 
beings love one another like brother and sister ! Like 
a brother I will divide my money with you ; you can 
adorn yourself, and be twice as handsome as you are ! 
All your friends will envy you ; nobody will know.” 
And with these words he gave a quick spring, and stood 
within the room. 

She uttered a loud scream, “Jesus Maria !” 

I shook the window violently where I stood ; the 
glass jingled, and as if driven by an invisible power, I 
flew round to the open window, tearing away a support 


The Improvisa tore . 


290 

from one of the vine trellises, that I might have with me 
some kind of weapon. 

“ Is it thou, Nicolo ?” cried she, loudly. 

“ It is I !” replied I, in a deep, resolute voice. 

I saw Gennaro again fly out of the window, his cloak 
streaming in the wind. The lamp was knocked out, 
and it remained quite dark in the room. 

“ Nicolo !” she cried from the window, and her voice 
trembled. “ Thou here again ! Madonna be praised !” 

“ Signora !” stammered I. 

“ All ye saints !” I heard her say, and shut to the 
window with all haste. I stood there as if riveted to the 
spot. After some moments, I heard her go softly across 
the floor. The door of the side-chamber was opened 
and then closed again ; I heard her knocking something, 
as if she were making bolts secure. 

“ Now she is safe,” thought I, and crept softly away. 
I felt myself so well, so wonderfully gay at heart. 
“ Now I have paid for the kiss which she gave me to-day,” 
said I to myself ; “ perhaps she would have given me 
yet another, had she known what a protecting angel I 
have been to her !” 

I reached the convent exactly as supper was ready ; 
no one had missed me. Gennaro, however, did not 
make his appearance, and Francesca became uneasy. 
Fabiani sent messenger on messenger. At length he 
came. He had walked, he said, as far as the mountains, 
and had lost himself, but had had the luck to meet at 
length with a peasant, who had put him in the right way. 

“ Your coat is, also, quite in tatters,” said Francesca. 

“ Yes,” said Gennaro, taking a biscuit, “ the missing 
piece hangs on a thorn bush ; I saw it, however ! 
Heaven knows how I could ever lose my way so ! But 
it was all the lovely evening, and then the darkness 


The Improvisatore. 


291 


came on so quickly, and I thought of shortening my 
way, and precisely by that means lost it !” 

We laughed at his adventure ; I knew it better ; we 
drank to his health ; the wine was excellent ; we became 
regularly excited. When we at length went to our 
chambers, which were only divided by a door from each 
other, he came before he undressed into mine, laughed, 
and laying his head upon my shoulder, prayed me not 
to dream too much about the handsome woman that we 
had seen to-day. 

“ But I had the kiss !” said I jestingly. 

“ Oh, yes, that you had !” said he. laughing, “ and do 
you think, therefore, that I came off with a step-child’s 
portion ?” 

“Yes, so I think !” returned I. 

“ Step-child, however, I never should remain,” said he 
in a cold tone, in which was a certain degree of bitter- 
ness, but a faint smile played again around his mouth 
as he whispered, “if you could keep your counsel, I 
could tell you something !” 

“ Tell me,” said I, “ nobody shall hear a syllable from 
me !” I expected now to hear his lamentations over his 
unfortunate adventure ; his secret was this : 

“ I forgot, to-day, intentionally, my pocket-book, at 
the handsome woman’s house, that I might have an 
excuse for going there in the evening, for then women 
are not so strict. There it is : I have been there, and 
with climbing over the garden-wall and up among the 
bushes, I tore my coat.” 

“ And the handsome woman ?” I inquired. 

“ Was twice as handsome !” said he, nodding signifi- 
cantly — “ twice as handsome, and not a bit stern ; we 
were quite good friends, that I know ! She gave you 
one kiss — she gave me a thousand, and her heart into 


292 


The Improvisatore. 


the bargain. I shall dream about my good luck all the 
night. Poor Antonio !” 

And, so saying, he kissed his hand to me and went to 
his own room. 

The morning heaven was covered as if with a gray 
veil, when we left the convent. Our stout rowers 
waited for us on the shore, and again carried us to our 
boat. Our voyage was now to Capri. The veil of 
heaven was rent asunder into light clouds ; the air 
became two-fold high and clear ; not a billow moved ; 
the soft curling of the sea was like a watered cloth. 
The beautiful Amalfi vanished behind the cliffs ; Gen- 
naro threw a kiss towards it whilst he said to me, “ There 
we have plucked roses !” 

“You, at all events, got among the thorns !” thought 
I, and nodded assentingly. 

The great, infinite sea, stretching on to Sicily and 
Africa, spread itself before us. To the left lay the 
rocky coast of Italy, with its singular caves ; before 
some of these stood little cities, which seemed as if they 
had stepped out of the caves ; in others sat fishermen, 
and cooked their meals and tarred their boats behind 
the high surf. 

The sea seemed to be a fat, blue oil ; we put our 
hands down into it, and they appeared as blue as it. 
The shadow which the boat threw upon the water was 
of the purest dark blue, the shadows of the oars a mov- 
ing snake of every shade of blue. 

“ Glorious sea !” exclaimed I in delight, “ nothing in 
all nature, with the exception of Heaven, is so beautiful 
as thou !” 

I called to mind how often I, as a child, had lain upon 
my back, and dreamed myself up into the blue, infinite 
air ; now my dream seemed to have become a reality. 

We passed by three small, rocky islands, II Galli'j 


The Improvisatore . 


2 93 


they were immense blocks of stone thrown one upon 
another ; giant towers raised up out of the deep, with 
others, again, piled upon them. The blue billows 
dashed up upon these masses of stone. In storm it 
must be a Scylla, with her howling dogs. 

The surface of the water slumbered around the naked 
stormy Cape Minerva, where in old times the syrens 
had their abode. Before us lay the romantic Capri, 
where Tiberius had luxuriated in joy, and looked over 
the bay to the coast of Naples. The sail was spread in 
our boat ; and, borne onward by the wind and the 
waves, we approached the island. Now, for the first 
time, we remarked the extraordinary purity and clear- 
ness of the water. It was as wonderfully transparent 
as if it had been air. We glided along, every stone, 
every reed, for many fathoms below us, being visible. 
I became dizzy when I looked down from the edge of 
our little boat into the depth over which we were pass- 
ing. 

The island of Capri is approachable only from one 
side. Around it ascend steep, perpendicular walls of 
cliff ; towards Naples they stretch out, amphitheatre- 
like, with vineyards, orange and olive-groves ; upon the 
shore stand several cottages of fishermen and a watch- 
house ; higher up, amid the green gardens, looks the 
little city of Anna Capri, into which a very small draw- 
bridge and gates conduct the stranger. We betook 
ourselves to the small inn of Pagani to rest ourselves. 

After dinner we were to ride up on asses to the ruins 
of Tiberius’s Villa, but now, however, we waited for our 
breakfast, and beween that and the following meal, 
Francesca and Fabiani wished to repose themselves, in 
order to have strength for the afternoon’s walk. Gen- 
naro and I felt no necessity for this. The island did 
not appear so large to me but that in a few hours we 


294 


The Improvisatore. 


could row round it, and see the lofty portals of rock 
which, towards the south, rear themselves isolatedly 
out of the sea. 

We took a boat and two rowers ; the wind blew a 
little, so that for half the distance we could make use of 
the sail. The sea was broken on the low reef. Fish- 
ing-nets lay outspread among them, so that we were 
obliged to go a considerable distance from them ; it was 
a beautiful, merry sail in that little boat ! Before long 
we saw only the perpendicular cliffs ascending from 
the sea up towards heaven ; in the crevices of which, 
however, here and there, sprang up an aloe, or gilly- 
flower, yet with no footing even for the mountain-goat. 
Below the surf, which flew up like blue fire, grew upon 
the rocks the blood-red sea-apple, which, wetted by the 
waves, seemed to have a doubly bright hue ; it was as 
if the rocks bled at every stroke of the billows. 

The open sea now lay to the right of us, to the left of 
us lay the island ; deep caves, whose uppermost open- 
ings lay but a little above the water, showed themselves 
in the cliffs, others were only dimly visible in the surf. 
Down amid these abode the syrens ; the blooming 
Capri, upon which we had climbed, being only the roof 
of their rock-fortress. 

“ Yes, bad spirits live here,” said one of the rowers, 
an old man with silver- white hair. “ It may be beauti- 
ful down there,” said he, “ but they never let their 
victims escape ; and if by any chance one does come 
back, he has no longer any understanding for this 
world !” 

He now showed us at some distance an opening, 
somewhat larger than the others, but yet not large 
enough for our boat to enter, without a sail, even if we 
had lain down on it, either for length or breadth. 


The Improvisator e . 


295 


“ That is the Witches’ Cave !* whispered the younger 
rower, and pushed out further from the rocks ; “ within, 
all is gold and diamonds, but any one who goes in 
there is burned up in a fiery flame ! Santa Lucia, pray 
for us !” 

“ I wish I had one of the syrens here in the boat !” 
said Gennaro ; “ but she must be beautiful, then all 
would be right.” 

“ Your luck with the ladies,” said I, laughing, “would 
avail you, then, here also !” 

“ Upon the swelling sea is the right place for kissing 
and embracing ; that is what the waves are always 
at ! Ah !” sighed he, “ if we had but here the hand- 
some woman from Amalfi ! That was a woman ! was 
not she ? You sipped of the nectar of her lips ! Poor 


* This is the name given by the inhabitants of Capri to the 
Blue Grotto, which was only properly explored in 1831 by two 
young Germans, Freis and Kopisch, and since then is become the 
goal of every traveler who visits South Italy. Kopisch was born 
in Breslau, and is the author of a beautiful novel called “ Die Kahl- 
kopfe auf Capri in 1837 his poems were published. — Author’s 
Note. 

Ernst Freis was a landscape-painter of extraordinary prom- 
ise, the son of Mr. Freis, the well-known and hospitable banker of 
Heidelberg. Ernst Freis spent many years in Italy, and his 
finest pieces are scenes from that beautiful country. He died 
suddenly, while yet quite young, at Carlsruhe, and lies buried 
under a beautiful monument in one of the burial-grounds in 
Heidelberg. In memory of him, his fellow-townspeople have laid 
out a fine public walk, leading from the splendid ruins of their 
celebrated castle round the hill to the very ancient site of the 
Roman Castle. A graceful and beautiful mark of respect to the 
memory of one who would so truly have enjoyed the luxury of its 
exquisite scenery. The road bears the name of the “ Freisen 
Weg,” in honor of him. — Translator s Note . 


296 


The Improvisator e. 


Antonio ! You should have seen her last evening ! 
She was gracious to me !” 

“ Nay, nay,” said 1, half indignant at his unabashed 
boasting, “ it is not so ; I know better than that !” 

“ How am I to understand that ?” asked he, and 
looked with much astonishment into my face. 

“ I saw it myself,” continued I ; “ chance led me 
there ; I doubt not of your great good fortune in other 
cases ; but this time you only wish to joke with me.” 

He looked at me in silence. 

“ ‘ I will not go,’ ” said I, laughing, and imitating 
Gennaro, “ 4 before you give me the kiss which you 
cheated me out of, and gave it to that foolish youth !” 

“ Signore ! you have listened to me !” said he, 
gravely, and I saw that his countenance became quite 
pale. “ How dare you affront me ? You shall fight 
with me, or I despise you !” 

This was an effort which I did not anticipate that my 
remarks would have produced. 

“ Gennaro, this is not your serious meaning,” 
exclaimed I, and took his hand ; he drew it back, made 
me no reply, but desired the sailors to make for the 
land. 

“Yes, we must sail round the island,” said the old 
man, “we can only land where we set out from.” 

They bent to their oars, and we speedily approached 
the lofty arch of rock in the blue swelling water ; but 
anger and vexation agitated my mind ; I looked at 
Gennaro, who lashed the water with his stick. 

“ Una tromba /” exclaimed the youngest of the seamen; 
and across the sea from Cape Minerva came floating a 
coal-black cloud-pillar in an oblique direction from the 
sea towards heaven, the water boiling around it ; with 
all speed they took down the sail. 

“ Where are you steering to ?” inquired Gennaro. 


The Improvisatore . 


297 

“ Back again, back again,” said the younger rower. 

“ Around the whole island again ?” inquired I. 

“ Close under land ; close to the rocky wall ; the 
water-spout takes a direction farther out.” 

“ The surf will draw the boat in among the rocks,” 
said the old man, and hurriedly snatched at the oars. 

“ Eternal God !” stammered I, for the black cloud- 
pillar came with the speed of the wind across the water, 
as if it would sweep along the rocky wall of Capri, in 
the neighborhood of which we were, and if it came, it 
would either whirl us up with it, or force us down into 
the deep, close by the perpendicular rocky coast. I 
seized upon the oar with the old man, and Gennaro 
assisted the younger ; but we already heard the winds 
howling, and the waters boiled before the feet of the 
water-spout, which drove us, as it were, before it. 

“ Santa Lucia, save us !” cried both the seamen, fling- 
ing down their oars and falling on their knees. 

“ Snatch hold on the oar,” cried Gennaro to me, but 
looked towards heaven, pale as death. 

Then rushed the tempest over our heads ; and to the 
left, not far from us, went the dark night over the 
waves, which lifted themselves up in the air, and then 
struck, white with foam, upon the boat. The atmos- 
phere pressed heavily upon us as if it would force the 
blood out of the eyes ; it became night ; the night of 
death. I was conscious but of one thing, and that was, 
that the sea lay upon me ; that I, that we all, were the 
prey of the sea, of death ; and further I was conscious 
of nothing. 

More terrible than the might of the volcano ; over- 
powering as the separation from Annunciata, stands the 
sight before me which met my eyes, when they again 
opened to consciousness. Far below me, above me, 
and around me, was blue ether. I moved my arm, and 


The Im p rovisa tore. 


298 


like electric sparks of fire, millions of falling stars 
glittered around me. I was carried along by the current 
of air ; I was certainly dead, I thought, and now 
was floated through ethereal space up to the heaven of 
God, yet a heavy weight lay on my head, and that was 
my earthly sin, which bowed me down ; the current of 
air passed over my head, and it was like the cold sea. 
I mechanically put out my hands to grasp whatever 
might be near me ; I felt a solid substance, and clung 
firmly to it. A weariness, as of death, went through 
my whole being ; I felt that I had neither life nor 
strength within me ; my corpse rested certainly within 
the depths of the sea ; it was my soul which now 
ascended to its fate. 

“ Annunciata !” sighed I. My eyes again opened. 
This swoon must certainly have lasted a long time. I 
breathed again ; I felt that I was stronger, and that my 
perception was distinct. I lay upon a cold, hard mass, 
as if on a point of rock, aloft in the infinitely blue ether 
which was lighted up around me. Above me vaulted 
itself the heavens with singular ball-shaped clouds, blue 
as itself ; all was at rest, infinitely quiet. I felt how- 
ever, an icy coldness through my whole being ; I slowly 
raised my hand. My clothing was of blue fire ; my 
hand shone like silver, and yet I felt that they were my 
bodily hands. My mind constrained itself to action ; 
did I belong to death or to life ? I extended my hand 
down into the strangely shining air below me ; it was 
water into which I thrust it, blue, like burning spirit, 
but cold as the sea. Close beside me stood a column, 
unshapely and tall, of a sparkling blue, and like the 
water-spout upon the. sea, only of a smaller size. Was 
it my terror or my remembrance which presented to me 
this image ? After some moments I ventured to touch 
it ; it was as hard as stone, and as cold as it also ; I 


The Improvisatore. 


299 

stretched out my hands into the half-dark space behind 
me, and felt only hard, smooth wall, but dark-blue, as 
the night-heavens. 

Where was I ? Was that below me, which I had 
taken for air, a shining sea, which burned of a 
sulphurous blue, but without heat ; was the illumined 
-space around me this, or was it light-diffusing walls of 
rock, and arches high above me ? Was it the abode of 
death, the cell of the grave for my immortal spirit ? An 
earthly habitation it certainly was not. Every object 
was illumined in every shade of blue ; I myself was 
enwrapped in a glory which gave out light. 

Close beside me was an immense flight of steps which 
seemed to be made of vast sapphires, every step being 
a gigantic block of this sparkling stone ; I ascended 
these, but a wall of rock forbade all further advance. 
Perhaps I was unworthy to approach any nearer to 
heaven. I had left the world, burdened with the wrath 
of a human being. Where was Gennaro ? Where were 
the two seamen ? I was alone, quite alone. I thought of 
my mother, of Domenica, of Francesca, upon every one ; 
I felt that my fancy created no deception ; the glory 
which I beheld was, like myself, either spiritual or 
physical. 

In a crevice of the cliff, I saw an object standing ; I 
touched it. It was a large and heavy copper cup, which 
was full of gold and silver coins ; I felt the individual 
pieces, and my situation appeared to me stranger than 
before. Close to the surface of the water, and not far 
from where I stood, I saw a clear blue star, which cast 
a single, long ray of light, pure as ether over the mirror 
of the water, and while I yet looked at it, I saw it 
darken itself like the moon ; a black object showed 
itself, and a little boat glided onward over the burning 
blue water. It was as if it had ascended out of the 


300 


The Improvised ore. 


deep, and then floated upon its surface ; an old man 
slowly rowed it forward, and the water shone red as 
crimson at every stroke of his oars. In the other part 
of the boat sat also a human figure, a girl as I soon 
could see. Silent, immovable as images of stone, they 
sat, excepting that the old man worked the oars. A 
strangely 4 ee P sigh reached my ear, it seemed to me 
that I recognized the sound. They rowed round in a 
circle, and approached the place where I stood. The 
old man laid his oars in the boat ; the girl raised her 
hand on high, and exclaimed in a voice of deep suffer- 
ing, “ Mother of God, forsake me not ! Here am I 
indeed, as thou hast said.” 

“ Lara !” I cried aloud. 

It was she ; I knew the voice. I recognized the form; 
it was Lara, the blind girl, from the ruined temple in 
Psestum. 

“ Give me my eyesight ! Let me behold God’s beau- 
tiful world !” said she. 

It was as if the dead had spoken ; my very soul 
trembled. She demanded now from me the beauty of 
the world, after which I, by my song, had breathed into 
her soul deep longings. 

“ Give me — ” stammered her lips, and she sank back 
into the boat , and the water splashed like fire-drops 
around it. 

For a moment the old man bent himself over her, and 
then came out to where I stood. His glance rested 
upon me ; I saw him make the sign of the cross in the 
air, take up the heavy copper- vessel, which he placed in 
the boat, and then entered himself. I instinctively fol- 
lowed after him. His singularly dark glance was fixed 
immovably upon me ; he now snatched up the oars, and 
we floated on towards the shining star. A cold current 
of air rushed towards us. I bent myself over Lara. A 


The Improvisa tore. 


3 QI 


narrow opening of rock now shut us in, but only for a 
moment, and then the sea, the great sea, in its infinite 
expanse, lay before us, and behind us reared itself up to 
heaven the perpendicular cliffs. It was a little, dark 
opening through which we had come ; close beside us 
was a low flat, overgrown with scattered bushes and 
dark-red flowers. The new moon shone wonderfully 
clearly. 

Lara raised herself up. I ventured not to touch her 
hand ; she was a spirit, I believed. The whole were 
spirits ; no dream images of my fancy. 

“ Give me the herbs !” said she, and stretched out her 
hand. I felt that I must obey the voice of the spirit. I 
saw the red flowers growing upon the green bushes on 
the low flat under the high cliffs. I stepped out of the 
boat, gathered the flowers, which had a very peculiar 
smell ; I offered them to her. A weariness, as of death, 
went through my limbs, and I sank down on my knee, 
but not without perceiving that the old man made the 
sign of the cross, took from me the flowers, and then 
lifted Lara into a large boat which lay just by ; the 
lesser one remained fastened to the shore. The sail was 
spread, and they sailed away over the sea. 

I stretched my hands after them, but death lay as 
heavily on my heart as if it were about to break. 

“ He lives !” were the first words which I again heard. 
I opened my eyes, and saw Fabiana and Francesca, who 
stood with yet a third person, a stranger, beside me ; he 
held my hand, and looked gravely and thoughtfully 
into my faee. 

I was lying in a large, handsome room ; it was day. 
Where was I? Fever burned in my blood, and only 
slowly and by degrees I became aware how I had come 
there, and how I had been saved. 

When Gennaro and I did not return, they had become 


302 


The Improvisatore . 


very uneasy about us, neither could any tidings be 
gained of the men who went with us, and as a water- 
spout had been seen to pass southward round the coast, 
our fate became decided. Two fishing-boats were 
immediately sent out to make the circuit of the island, 
so that they might meet each other, but not a trace 
either of us or our boat could they discover. Francesca 
had wept ; she was very kind to me ; she lamented with 
pain the deaths of Gennaro and the two seamen. 
Fabiani would not be satisfied without himself going 
out to search ; he resolved to examine every little 
crevice of the rocks, to see whether some of us might 
not have saved ourselves by swimming, and might 
perhaps be even then enduring the most horrible of 
deaths — that of distress and hunger ; for from not one 
single place was it possible to climb up to human beings. 
In the early morning, therefore, he had gone out with 
four strong rowers, had visited the isolated rocky portals 
of the sea, and every individual chasm of rock. The 
rowers were unwilling to approach the terrific Witch’s 
Cave, but Fabiani commanded them to steer there 
towards the little green flat. As he approached the 
place, he saw, at no great distance, a human being lying 
outstretched ; it was myself. 1 lay like a corpse among 
the green bushes ; my dress was half-dried by the 
winds ; they took me into the boat ; he covered me 
with his cloak, rubbed my hands and my breast, and 
perceived that I breathed faintly. They made for land, 
and, under the care of the physician, I was again among 
the number of the living. Gennaro and the two sea- 
men were nowhere to be found. 

They made me tell them all that I could remember, 
and I told them of the singularly beaming cave in which 
I had awoke, of the boat with the old fisherman and the 
blind girl, and they said it was my imagination, a fever- 


The Improvisator e. 


303 


ish dream in the night air ; even I myself felt as if I 
ought to think so, and yet I could not, it stood all so 
livingly before my soul. 

“ Was he then found by the Witch’s Cave ?” inquired 
the physician, and shook his head. 

“ You do not, then, believe that this place has a more 
potent influence than any other ?” asked Fabiani. 

“ Nature is a chain of riddles,” said the physician ; 
“ we have only found out the easiest.” 

It became day in my soul. The Witch’s Cave, that 
world of which our seamen had spoken, where all was 
gleaming fire and beams ! Had the sea, then, borne me 
in there ? I remembered the narrow opening through 
which I had sailed out of it. Was it reality, or a dream ? 
Had I looked into a spiritual world ? The mercy of the 
Madonna had saved and protected me. My thoughts 
dreamed themselves back again into the beamingly- 
beautiful hall where my protecting angel was called 
Lara. 

In truth, the whole was no dream. I had seen that 
which not until some years afterwards had been dis- 
covered, and now is the most beautiful object in Capri, 
nay, in Italy, the Grotta Azura. The female form was 
really the blind girl from Paestum. But how could I 
believe it ? how imagine it to be so ? It was, indeed, 
very strange. I folded my hands, and thought upon 
my guardian angel. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

JOURNEY HOME. 

Francesca and Fabiani remained yet two days in 
Capri, that we might be able to make the journey back 
to Naples together. If I had formerly been many times 
wounded by their mode of speaking to me, and their 
treatment of me, I now received so much affection from 
them, and they had showed so much solicitude about me, 
that I clung to them with my whole heart. 

“ Thou must go with us to Rome,” they said, “ that is 
the most rational and the best thing for thee.” 

My singular deliverance ; the wonderful appearance 
in the cave, operated greatly on my excited state of 
mind. I felt myself so wholly in the hand of the 
invisible guide, who lovingly directs all to the best, 
that I now regarded all chances as in the ruling of 
Providence, and was resigned ; and, therefore, when 
Francesca kindly pressed my hand, and asked me 
whether I had a desire to live in Naples with Bernardo, 
I assured her that I must and would go to Rome. 

“ We should have shed a many tears for thee, Anto- 
nio,” said Francesca, and pressed my hand ; “ thou art 
our good child. Madonna has held her protecting hand 
over thee.” 

“ Excellenza shall know,” said Fabiani, “ that the 
Antonio with whom he was angry is drowned in the 




The Improvisator e . 


305 


Mediterranean, and that we are bringing back home 
with us the old, excellent Antonio.” 

“Poor Gennaro !” sighed Francesca, then, “he pos- 
sessed a noble heart, life, and spirit. In everything he 
was a master !” 

The physician sat beside me for many hours ; he was 
properly from Naples, and was only on a visit in Capri. 
On the third day he accompanied us back. He said 
that I was perfectly well, bodily, at least, though not 
spiritually. I had looked into the kingdom of death — 
had felt the kiss of the angel of death upon my brow. 
The mimosa of youth had folded together its leaves. 

When we were seated in the boat, with the physician 
in company, and I saw the clear, transparent water, all 
the recollections of the past crowded themselves upon 
my soul, and I thought how near I had been to death, 
and how wonderfully I had been saved. I felt that life 
was still so beautiful, and tears rushed to my eyes. All 
my three companions occupied themselves alone with 
me, nay, Francesca herself talked of my beautiful talent 
— called me a poet ; and when the physician heard that 
it was I who had improvised, he told what delight I had 
given to all his friends, and how transported they had 
been with me. 

The wind was in our favor, and, instead of sailing 
direct to Sorrento, as had at first been determined, and 
of going from thence over land to Naples, we now sailed 
directly up to the capital. In my lodging I found three 
letters — one from Federigo ; he had again set off to 
Ischia, and would not return for three days ; this dis- 
tressed me, for thus I should not be able to bid him 
farewell, because our departure was fixed for the noon 
of the following day. The second letter, the waiter 
told me, had been brought the morning after I had set 
out ; I opened it, and read : 


3°6 


The Improvisa tore. 


“ A faithful heart, which intends honorably and kindly 
towards you, expects you this evening.” Then was 
given the house and the number, but no names, only 
the words, “ Your old friend.” 

The third letter was from the same hand, and con- 
tained — ” 

“ Come, Antonio ! The terror of the last unfortunate 
moment of our parting is now well over. Come quickly ! 
— regard it as a misunderstanding. All may be right ; 
only delay not a moment in coming !” The same signa- 
ture as before. 

That these were from Santa was to me sufficiently 
evident ; although she had chosen another house than 
her’s for our meeting. I resolved not to see her again ; 
wrote in haste a few polite words to her husband, that I 
was leaving Naples, that the hurry in which our 
arrangements were made forbade me to pay him a fare- 
well visit ; I thanked him for his and his Signora’s 
politeness to me, and besought them not to forget me. 
For Federigo I wrote, also, a little note ; promised him 
a regularly long letter from Rome, because I was not 
now in a condition to write. 

I went out nowhere, for I wished not to meet Bernardo, 
and saw none of my new friends. The only person 
whom I visited was the physician, and I drove to his 
house with Fabiani. His was a charming and friendly 
home ; his eldest sister, an unmarried lady, kept his 
house. There was a something so affectionate, some- 
thing so truthful, about her, that I was immediately 
taken with her. I could not help thinking of old 
Domenica, only that she was accomplished, was pos- 
sessed of talents and higher perfections. 

The next morning, the last which I was to spend in 
Naples, my eye dwelt, with a melancholy sentiment, 
upon Vesuvius, which I now saw for the last time ; but 


The Improvised ore. 


307 


thick clouds enveloped the top of the mountain, which 
seemed as if it would not say to me farewell. 

The sea was perfectly tranquil. I thought upon my 
dream-pictures — Lara in the glittering grotto — and soon 
would all my whole residence here in Naples be like a 
dream ! I took up the paper Diario di Napoli, which the 
waiter brought in ; I saw my own name in it, and a 
critique on my first appearance. Full of curiosity, I 
read it ; my rich fancy and my beautiful versification 
were in particular most highly praised. It is said that I 
seemed to be of the school of Pangetti, only that I had a 
little too much followed my master. I knew nothing at 
all about this Pangetti, that was certain; and, therefore, 
could not have formed myself upon this model. Nature 
and my own feelings had alone been my guides. But 
the greatest number of critics are so little original 
themselves, that they believe that all whom they pass 
judgment upon must have some model to copy. The 
public had awarded me a greater applause than this ; 
although the critic said that in time I should become a 
master, and that I was now already possessed of uncom- 
mon talent, rich imagination, feeling, and inspiration. 
I folded together the paper, and resolved to keep it ; it 
would some time be a token to me that all this which I 
had lived through here was not a dream. I had seen 
Naples, had moved about in it, had won and had lost 
much. Was Fulvia’s brilliant prophecy all come to an 
end ? 

We left Naples ; the lofty vineyards disappeared from 
our sight. In four days we made the journey back to 
Rome ; the same way which, about two months before, 
I had traveled with Federigo and Santa. I saw again 
Mola de Gaeta and its gardens of oranges ; the trees 
were now fragrant with blossoms. I went into the path 
where Santa had sat and heard my life’s adventure ; 


3oS 


The Im provisa tore. 


how many important circumstances had since that time 
knit themselves to it ! We drove through the dirty Itri, 
and I thought upon Federigo. At the frontiers, where 
our passports were given up for inspection, some goats 
yet stood in the cave of the rock as he had painted 
them ; but the little boy I saw not. We passed the 
night at Terracina. 

The next morning, the atmosphere was infinitely 
clear. I said my farewell to the sea, which had pressed 
me in its arms, had lulled me into the most beautiful 
dream, and had shown me Lara, my image of beauty. 
In the far distance I yet perceived, on the clear horizon, 
Vesuvius, with its pale blue pillar of smoke ; the whole 
was as if breathed in air upon the brilliant firmament 

“ Farewell ! farewell ! away to Rome, where stands 
my grave !” sighed I ; and the carriage bowled us away, 
over the green marshes, to Velletri. I greeted the 
mountains where I had gone with Fulvia ; I saw again 
Genzano, drove over the very spot where my mother 
had been killed ; where I, as a child had lost my all in 
this world. And here I now came, like an educated 
gentleman ; beggars called me Excellenza, as I looked 
out into the street. Was I now really happier than I 
had been at that former time ? 

We drove through Albano, the Campagna lay before 
us. We saw the tomb of Ascanius, with its thick ivy 
by the wayside ; farther on, the monuments, the 
long aqueduct, and now Rome, with the cupola of 
St. Peter’s. 

“ A cheerful countenance, Antonio,” said Fabiani, as 
we rolled in at the Porta San Giovanni. The Lateran 
Church, the tall obelisk, the Colosseum, and Trajan’s 
Square, all told me that I was at home. Like a dream 
of the night, and yet like a whole year of my life, floated 
before me the circumstances of the last few weeks. 


The Im provisa tore. 


309 


How dull and dead was everything here in comparison 
with Naples ! The long Corso was no Toledo street. X 
saw again well-known countenances around me. H ab- 
bas Dahdah went tripping past, and saluted us, as he 
recognized the carriage. In the corner of the Via 
Condotti sat Peppo, with his wooden clogs upon his 
hands. 

“ Now we are at home,” said Francesca. 

“ Yes, home !” repeated I ; and a thousand emotions 
agitated my breast. In a few moments, I should stand 
like a schoolboy before Excellenza. I shrunk from the 
meeting ; and yet it seemed to me that the horses did 
not fly fast enough. 

We drew up at the Palazzo Borghese. 

Two small rooms, in the highest story, were appropri- 
ated to me. But I had not yet seen Excellenza. We 
were now summoned to table. I bowed deeply before 
him. 

“ Antonio can sit between me and Francesca,” were 
the first words I heard him say. 

The conversation was easy and natural. Every 
moment I expected that a bitter remark would be aimed 
at me ; but not a word, not the least reference, was 
made to my having been away, or to Excellenza having 
been displeased with me, as his letter had said. 

This gentleness affected me. I doubly prized the 
affection which met me thus ; and yet there were times 
when my pride felt itself wounded — because I had met 
with no reproof. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

EDUCATION — THE YOUNG ABBESS. 

The Palace Borghese was now my home. I was 
treated with much more mildness and kindness. Some- 
times, however, the old teaching tone, the wounding, 
deprecating mode of treating me returned ; but I knew 
that it was intended for my good. 

During the hottest months they left Rome, and I 
was alone in the great palace ; towards winter they 
returned, and the old results were again produced. 
They seemed to forget, in the meantime, that I had 
become older, that I was no longer a child in the Cam- 
pagna, who regarded every word which was spoken as 
an article of faith ; or a scholar from the Jesuits’ school, 
who continually and continually must be educated. 

Like a mighty sea, where billow is knit to billow, lies 
an interval of six years before me. I had swam over 
it ; God be praised ! Thou who hast followed me 
through my life’s adventures, fly rapidly after. The 
impression of the whole I will give thee in a few touches. 
It was the combat of my spiritual education ; the jour- 
neyman treated as an apprentice, before he could come 
forth as a master. 

I was considered as an excellent young man of talent, 
out of whom something might be made ; and, therefore, 
every one took upon himself my education. My depen- 


The Improvisatore % 


3 ” 


dence permitted it to those with whom I stood con- 
nected ; my good nature permitted it ]to all the rest. 
Livingly and deeply did I feel the bitterness of my posi- 
tion, and yet I endured it. That was an education. 

Excellenza lamented over my want of the fundamen- 
tal principles of knowledge ; it mattered not how much 
soever I might read ; it was nothing but the sweet 
honey, which was to serve for my trade, which I sucked 
out of books. The friends of the house, as well as of 
my patrons, kept comparing me with the ideal in their 
own minds, and thus I could not do other than fall short. 
The mathematician said that I had too much imagina- 
tion, and too little reflection ; the pedant, that I had 
not sufficiently occupied myself with the Latin language. 
The politician always asked me, in the social circle, 
about the political news, in which I was not at home, 
and inquired only to show my want of knowledge. A 
young nobleman, who only lived for his horse, lamented 
over my small experience in horseflesh, and united with 
others in a miserere over me, because I had more interest 
in myself than in his horse. A noble lady-friend of the 
house, who, on account of her rank and great self-suffi- 
ciency, had gained the reputation of great wisdom and 
critical acumen ; but who had actually very little of the 
sense she pretended to, requested that she might go 
through my poems, with reference to their beauty and 
structure ; but she must have them copied out on loose 
papers. Habbas Dahdah considered me as a person 
whose talent had, .at one time, promised great things ; 
but which had now died out. The first dancer in the 
city despised me, because I could not make a figure in 
the ball-room ; the grammarian because I had made 
use of a full stop where he placed a semi-colon ; and 
Francesca said that I was quite spoiled , because people made 
so much of me j and for that reason she must be severe, 


3 12 


The Improvisatore . 


and give me the benefit of her instruction. Every one 
cast his poison-drop upon my heart ; I felt that it must 
either bleed, or become callous. 

The beautiful and the noble in everything seized 
upon and attracted me. In tranquil moments I often 
thought on my educators, and it seemed to me that they 
existed in the whole of nature, and the life of the world 
for which my thoughts and my soul existed as active 
artisans. The world even seemed to me a beautiful 
girl, whose form, mind, and dress, had attracted my 
whole attention ; but the shoemaker said, “ Look only 
at her shoes ; they are quite preferable ; they are the 
principal thing !” The dress-maker exclaimed, “ No, 
the dress ; see, what a cut ! that, above all, must occupy 
you ; go into the color, the hems, study the very princi- 
ples of it !” “ No,” cries the hair-dresser, “ you must 

analyse this plait ; you must devote yourself to it !” 
“ The speech is of much more importance !” exclaims 
the language-master. “ No, the carriage !” says the 
dancing-master. “ Ah ! good Heaven !” I sigh, “ it is 
the whole together which attracts me. I see only the 
beautiful in everything ; but I cannot become a dress- 
maker or a shoe-maker just for your pleasure. My busi- 
ness is to exalt the beauty of the whole. Ye good men 
and women, do not, therefore, be angry and condemn 
me.” 

“ It is too low for him !” “ It is not high enough for 

his poetical spirit !” said they all, deridingly. 

No beast is, however, so cruel as man ! Had I been 
rich and independent, the colors of everything would 
soon have changed. Every one of them were more pru- 
dent, more deeply grounded, and more rational, than I. 
I learned to smile obligingly where I could have wept ; 
bowed to those whom I lightly esteemed, and listened 
attentively to the empty gossip of fools. Dissimulation, 


The Improvisatore. 


313 


bitterness, and ennui y were the fruit of education which 
circumstances and men afforded me. People pointed 
always to my faults. Was there then nothing at all 
intellectual, no good points in me ? It was I myself who 
must seek for these, who must make these availing. 
People riveted my thoughts upon my own individual 
self, and then upbraided me for thinking too much of 
myself. 

The politician called me an egotist because I would 
not occupy myself solely and altogether with his calling. 
A young dilletante in Aesthetics, a relation of the Bor- 
ghese family, taught me on what I ought to think, 
compose, and judge, and that always in one mode, that 
every stranger might see that it was the nobleman who 
taught the shepherd boy, the poor lad, who must be 
doubly grateful to him in that he condescended to 
instruct him. He who interested himself for the beauti- 
ful horse, and for that and that alone, said that I was 
the very vainest of men because I had no eye for his 
steed. But were not they all egotists ? Or had they 
right ? Perhaps I was a poor child for whom they had 
done a great deed. But if my name had no nobility 
attached to it, my soul had, and inexpressibly deeply did 
it feel every humiliation. 

I who with my whole soul had clung to mankind, was 
now changed, like Lot’s wife, into a pillar of salt. This 
gave rise to defiance in my soul. There were moments 
when my spiritual consciousness raised itself up in its 
fetters, and became a devil of high-mindedness, which 
looked down upon the folly of my prudent teachers, and, 
full of vanity, whispered into my ear, “ Thy name will 
live and be remembered, when all theirs are forgotten, 
or are only remembered through thee, as being con- 
nected with thee, as the refuse and the bitter drops 
which fell into thy life’s cup !” 


3 T 4 


The Improvisatore . 


At such moments I thought on Tasso, on the vain 
Leonora, the proud Court of Ferrara, the nobility of 
which now is derived from the name of Tasso ; whose 
castle is in ruins, and the poet’s prison a place of pil- 
grimage. I myself felt with what vanity my heart 
throbbed ; but, in the manner in which I was brought 
up, it must be so, or else it must bleed. Gentleness and 
encouragement would have preserved my thoughts 
pure, my soul full of affection ; every friendly smile 
and word was a sunbeam, which melted one of the ice- 
roots of vanity ; — but there fell more poison-drops than 
sunbeams. 

I was no longer so good as I had been formerly, and 
yet I was called an excellent, a remarkably excellent 
young man. My soul studied books, nature, the world, 
and myself, and yet they said, he will not learn any- 
thing. 

This education lasted for six years, nay seven, I might 
say, but that about the close of the sixth year there 
occurred a new movement in the waves of my life’s sea. 
In six long years there were certainly many circum- 
stances which might have been communicated, many 
which were of more marked interest than those of which 
I have been speaking, but all melted themselves, how- 
ever, into one single drop of poison as every man of 
talent, not possessed of either wealth or rank, knows as 
well as the pulsations of his own heart. 

I was an Abbe, had a sort of name in Rome as 
improvisatore, because I had improvised and read poems 
aloud in the Academia Tiberina, and had always 
received the most decided applause ; but Francesca was 
right when she said that they clapped everything which 
anybody read here. H abbas Dahdah stood as one of 
the first in the Academy— that is to say, he talked and 
wrote more than any one else ; all his fellow professors 


The Improviscitore. 


3i5 


said that he was too one-sided, ill-tempered, and unjust, 
and yet they endured him among them, and so he wrote 
and wrote on. 

He had gone, he said, through my water-color pieces, 
as he called my poems, but he could not now discover 
one trace of the talent which he had at one time, when 
in the school I bowed myself before his opinion, found 
in me ; it had been strangled in the birth, he said, and 
my friends ought to prevent any of my poems, which 
were only poetical misconceptions, from seeing the 
light. The misfortune was, he said, that great geniuses 
had written in their youthful years, and thus it had been 
with me. 

I never heard anything of Annunciata ; she was to me 
like one dead, who, in the moment of death, had laid 
her cold hand crushingly upon my heart, and thereby it 
had become more susceptible of every painful emotion. 
My residence in Naples, all the recollections of it, were 
as a beautiful paralyzing Medusa’s head. When the 
sirocco blew, I bethought myself of the mild breezes at 
Paestum, of Lara, and the brilliant grotto in which I had 
seen her. When I stood like a school-boy before my 
male and female educaters, came to me recollections of 
the plaudits in the Robber’s Cave, and in the great 
theatre in San Carlo. When I stood unobserved in a 
corner, I thought of Santa, who stretched forth her 
arms after me, and sighed, “ Kill me, *but leave me 
not !” They were six long, instructive years ; I was 
now six-and-twenty years old. 

Flaminia, the young abbess, as they called her, the 
daughter of Francesca and Fabiani, who already had 
been consecrated in the cradle by the holy father as the 
bride of heaven, I had not seen since I had danced her 
upon my arm, and drawn for her merry pictures. She 
had been educated in a female convent in the Quattri 


3 1 6 


The Improvisatore. 


Fontane, |rom which she never came. Fabiani had not 
seen her either for six long years ; Francesca only, as 
her mother, and as a lady, was permitted to visit her. 
She was, they said, grown quite a beautiful young 
woman, and the pious sisters had brought her mind to 
the same state of perfection. According to old custom, 
the young abbess was now to return home to her 
parents for some months, to enjoy all the pleasure of 
the world, and all its joy, before she said forever fare- 
well to it. She could even then, it was said, choose 
between the noisy world and the quiet convent, but as, 
from the child’s play with the dolls dressed as nuns, so 
through her whole education in the convent, every- 
thing had been done with the design of riveting her 
soul and her thoughts to her destined life. 

Often when I went through Quattri Fontane, where 
the convent was situated, I thought of the friendly 
child whom I had danced upon my arm, and how 
changed she must be, and how quietly she lived behind 
the narrow wall. Once only had I been to the convent 
church, and had heard the nuns singing between the 
grating. Was the little abbess seated among them ? 
thought I, but ventured not to inquire whether the 
boarders also took part in the singing, and the church 
music. There was one voice which sounded so high 
and melancholy above the others, and which had a 
great resemblance to Annunciata’s ; I seemed again to 
hear her, and all the remembrances from that gone 
time seemed to awaken again in my soul. 

“ Next Monday our little abbess comes to us,” said 
Excellenza. I longed inexpressibly to see her. She 
seemed to me, like myself, to be like a captive bird, 
which they let out of the cage with a string about its 
leg, that it might enjoy freedom in God’s nature. 

I saw her for the first time again at the dinner-table. 


The Improvisatore. 


317 


She was, as they had told me, very much grown, some- 
what pale, and, at the first moment, no one would have 
said that she was handsome ; but there was an expres- 
sion of heartfelt goodness in her countenance, a wonder- 
ful gentleness was diffused over it. 

There were at the table only a few of the nearest 
relations. Nobody told her who I was, and she 
appeared not to recognize me, but replied, with a kind- 
ness to which I was not accustomed, to every single 
^vord which I said. I felt that she made no difference 
between us, and drew me also into conversation. She 
does not know me most assuredly, thought I. 

All the party were cheerful, told anecdotes and droll 
passages in every-day life ; and the young abbess 
laughed. This gave me courage, and I introduced 
several puns, which, just at that time, had produced 
great effect in many circles in the city. But no one 
laughed at them excepting the young abbess ; the 
others only faintly smiled, said that it was poor wit, and 
that it was not worth repeating. I assured them that, 
in almost every other place in Rome, people found a 
deal to laugh at in them. 

“ It is but a mere play upon words,” said Francesca. 
“ How can any one find pleasure in such superficial 
wit ? What mere nothings can occupy a human 
brain !” 

I occupied myself very little, in truth, with such 
things. But I had wished to contribute my part to the 
general entertainment, and that which I had related 
appeared to me very amusing, and exactly calculated 
for the purpose. I became silent and constrained. 

Many strangers were there in the evening, and I kept 
myself prudently in the background. The great circle 
had gathered around the excellent Perini. He was of 
my age, but a nobleman, lively, and, in fact, very enter- 


3 1 8 The Improvisatore . 


taining ; and was possessed of all possible company 
talents. People knew that he was amusing and witty, 
and discovered that everything which he said was so. 
I stood somewhat behind, and heard how they were all 
laughing, especially Excellenza. I approached nearer. 
It was precisely that very same play of words which I 
to-day had so unfortunately brought forward for the 
first time, that Perini now related. He neither took 
from it nor added to it, but gave the very same words 
with the very same mien that I had done, and they all 
laughed ! 

“It is most comic,” cried Excellenza, and clapped his 
hands ; “ most comic, is it not ?” said he, to the young 
abbess, who stood by his side and laughed. 

“ Yes ; so it seemed to me at dinner when Antonio 
told it to us !” returned she. There was nothing at all 
bitter in this remark of hers ; it was spoken with her 
customary gentleness. I could have fallen at her feet. 

“ Oh, it is superb !” said Francesca, to Perini’s pun. 

My heart beat violently. I withdrew to the window, 
behind the long curtains, and breathed the fresh air. 

I bring forward merely this one little trait. Every 
day, as it went on, gave rise to similar ones. But the 
young abbess was an affectionate child, who looked into 
my face with gentleness and love, as if she would pray 
for forgiveness for the sins of the others. I was also 
very weak. I had vanity enough, but no pride. That 
was occasioned, certainly, by my low birth, by my early 
bringing up, by my dependence, and the unfortunate 
relationship of benefits received, in which I was placed 
to those around me. The thought was forever recur- 
ring to my mind how much I was indebted to my circum- 
stances, and that thought bound my tongue to the 
resolves of my pride. It was assuredly noble ; but, at 
the same time, it was weakness. 


The Improvisa tore . 


3 T 9 


Had I stood in an entirely independent position, 
things could not have come to the state in which they 
were. Every one acknowledged my sense of duty and 
my firm conscientiousness ; and yet, they said, a genius 
is not capable of grave business. Those who were th*e 
most polite to me, said that I was possessed of too much 
spirituality for it. If they meant what they said, how 
ill they judged of a man of mind ! I might have 
perished of hunger, it was said, had it not been for 
Excellenza ; how much gratitude, therefore, did I not 
owe him ? 

About this time I had just finished a great poem — 
“ David ” — into which I had breathed my whole soul. 
Day after day, through the last year, spite of the eternal 
educating, the recollections of my flight to Naples, my 
adventures there, and the severing of my first strong 
love, had given my whole being a more determined 
poetical bent. There were moments which stood 
before me as a whole life, a true poem, in which I 
myself had acted apart. Nothing appeared to me with- 
out significance, or of every-day occurrence. My suf- 
ferings even, and the injustice which was done to me, 
was poetry. My heart felt a necessity to pour itself 
forth, and in “ David ” I found material which answered 
to my requiring. I felt livingly the excellence of what 
I had written, and my soul was gratitude and love ; for 
it is the truth, that I never either sang or composed a 
strophe which appeared to me good, without turning 
myself with child-like thanks' to the eternal God, from 
whom I felt that it was a gift, a grace which he had 
infused into my soul ! My poem made me happy ; and 
I heard with a pious mind everything which seemed to 
be said unreasonbly against me ; for I thought, when 
they hear this, they will feel what an injustice they have 


3 20 


The Improvisatore. 


done me, their hearts will warm towards me with 
two-fold love ! 

My poem was completed ; no human eye excepting 
my own had yet seen it. It seemed to stand before me 
like a Vatican Apollo, an unpolluted image of beauty 
known only to God himself. I gladdened myself with 
the thought of the day when I should read it in the 
Academia Tiberina. I resolved that nobody in the 
house should in the meantime know of it. One day, 
however, one of the first after the young abbess was come 
home, Francesca and Fabiani were so gentle and kind 
to me, that I felt as if I could have no secrets with them. 
I told them, therefore, of my poem, and they said, “ But 
we ought first of all to hear it.” 

I was willing that they should, although not without 
a kind of throbbing of heart, an extraordinary anxiety. 
In the evening, just as I was about to read it, who 
should make his appearance but Habbas Dahdah. 

Francesca besought him to remain, and to honor my 
poem by hearing it read. Nothing could have been 
more repugnant to me. I knew his bitterness, ill- 
humor, and bad-blood ; nor were the others particularly 
prepossessed in my favor. Nevertheless, the con- 
sciousness of the excellence of my work gave me a sort 
of courage. The young abbess looked happy ; she 
delighted herself with the thoughts of hearing my 
“ David.” When I first stepped forward in San Carlo, 
my heart did not beat more violently than now, as I sat 
before these people. This poem, I thought, must 
entirely change their judgment of me— their mode of 
treating me. It was a sort of spiritual operation by 
which I desired to influence them, and therefore I 
trembled. 

A natural feeling within me had led me only to 
describe that which I knew. David’s shepherd life, 


A YOUNG LADY SANK AT MY FEET.” — See Page 362. 














The Improvisator e. 


3 21 


with which my poem opened, was borrowed from my 
childhood’s recollections in the hut of Domenica. 

“ But this is actually yourself,” cried Francesca ; 
“ yourself out in the Campagna.” 

“ Yes ; that one can very well see,” said Excellenza. 
“ He must bring himself in. That is really a peculiar 
genius that the man has ! In every possible thing he 
knows how to bring forward himself.” 

“ The versification ought to be a little smoother,” said 
Habbas Dahdah. “ I advise the Horatian rule, 1 Let it 
only lie by — lie by till it comes to maturity !’ ” 

It was as if they had all of them broken off an arm 
from my beautiful statue. I, however, read yet a few 
more stanzas, but only cold, slight .observation met my 
ear. Whenever my heart had expressed naturally its 
own emotions, they said I had borrowed from another 
poet. Whenever my soul had been full of warm inspir- 
ation, and I had expected attention and rapture, they 
seemed indifferent, and made only cold and every-day 
remarks. I broke off at the conclusion of the second 
canto , it was impossible for me to read any more. My 
poem, which had seemed to me so beautiful and so 
spiritual, now lay like a deformed doll, a puppet with 
glass eyes and twisted features ; it was as if they had 
breathed poison over my image of beauty. 

“ But David does not kill the Philistines !” said 
Habbas Dahdah. With this exception, they said that 
there were some very pretty things in the poem ; that 
which related to childhood and to sentiment I could 
express very nicely. 

I stood silent, and bowed, like a criminal, for a 
gracious sentence. 

“The Horatian rule,” whispered Habbas Dahdah, 
pressing my hand very kindly and calling me “ poet.” 
Some minutes, however, afterwards, when I had with- 


322 


The Improvisatore. 


drawn, greatly depressed, into a corner, I heard him say 
to Fabiani that my work was “ nothing at all but des- 
perate bunglingly-put-together stuff !” 

They had mistaken both it and me, but my soul could 
not bear it. I went out into the great saloon adjoining, 
where a fire was burning on the hearth ; I convulsively 
crumped together my poem in my hand. All my hopes, 
all my dreams, were in a moment destroyed. I felt 
myself so infinitely small ; an unsuccessful impression 
of Him in whose image I was made. 

That which I had loved, had pressed to my lips, into 
which I had breathed my soul, my living thoughts, I 
cast from me into the fire ; I saw my poem kindle up 
into red flame. 

“ Antonio !” cried the young abbess close behind me, 
and snatched into the fire after the burning leaves ; her 
foot slipped in her quick movement, and she fell for- 
ward on the fire. It was a fearful sight ; she uttered a 
shriek, I sprang forward to her and caught her up ; the 
poem was all in a blaze, and the others came rushing 
into the room. 

‘‘Jesus Maria !” exclaimed Francesca. 

The young abbess lay pale as death in my arms ; she 
raised her head, smiled, and said to her mother — 

“ My foot slipped ; I have only burned my hand a 
little ; if it had not been for Antonio it would have been 
a great deal worse 1” 

I stood like a sinner, and could not say one word. She 
had severely burnt her left hand, and a great excitement 
was occasioned by it in the house. They had not 
noticed that I had thrown my poem into the fire. I 
expected that they would afterwards inquire about it, 
but as I did not speak of this, neither was it spoken of 
by any one— by no one at all ! Yes, by one— by Fla- 
minia, the young abbess ! 


The Improvisatore. 


323 


In her I saw the good angel of the house ; through 
her gentleness, her sisterly disposition, after some time, 
my whole childlike confidence returned ; I was as if 
hound to her. 

It was more than fourteen days before her hand was 
healed. The wound burned, but it burned also in my 
heart. 

“ Flaminia, I am guilty of the whole !” said I one day 
as I sat alone with her ; “ for my sake you have suffered 
this pain.” % 

“ Antonio,” said she, “ for Heaven’s sake be silent I 
Let no creature hear a word of this ; you do yourself 
an injustice ; my foot slipped, it might have been much 
more unfortunate had not you been there. I owe thanks 
to you for it, and that my father and mother feel also ; 
they are much attached to you, Antonio, more so than 
you think.” 

“ I owe everything to them,” I said \ “ every day lays 
me under a fresh obligation ” 

“ Do not speak of that,” said she, with indescribable 
sweetness ; “ they have their own mode of behaving to 
you, but they only think that it is the best. You do not 
know how much good my mother has told me about 
you ! We have all of us our faults, Antonio, even you 
yourself” — she paused. “Yes,” continued she, “how 
could you be so angfy as to burn that beautiful poem ?” 

“ It was not worth anything better,” said I ; “ I ought 
long before to have thrown it into the flames.” 

Flaminia shook her head. “ It was a bad, wicked 
world !” said she ; “yes, it was very much better there 
among the sisters in the quiet, friendly convent.” 

“Yes,” exclaimed I; “innocent and good like you I 
am not ; my heart has in its remembrance rather the 
bitter drops than the refreshing draughts of benefits 
which have been extended to me.” 


3 2 4 


The Improvisa tore. 


“ In my beloved convent it was much better than it is 
here, though you all love me so much,” she often would 
say when we were together alone. My whole soul was 
attracted towards her ; for I felt that she was the good 
angel of my bitter feelings and my innocence. I 
seemed also to perceive in others a greater delicacy 
towards me, a greater gentleness in word and in looks ; 
and I fancied that this was the effect of Flaminia’s 
influence. 

She seemed to have such great pleasure in talking to 
me about the things which occupied me most — poetry, 
the glorious, God like poetry. I told her a great deal 
about the great masters, and often inspiration ascended 
into my soul, and my lips became eloquent as she sat 
there before me with folded hands, and looked into my 
face like the angel of innocence. 

“And yet, how happy you are, Antonio !” said she, 
“ more happy than thousands ! And nevertheless it 
seems to me that it must be an anxious thing to belong 
to the world in the same degree as you and every poet 
must ! How very much good cannot one word of yours 
produce, and yet how much evil likewise !” 

She expressed her astonishment that poets forever 
sung of human struggles and troubles , to her it seemed 
that the prophet of God, as the poet is, should only sing 
of the eternal God and of the joy of heaven. 

“ But the poet sings of God in His creatures !” replied 
I ; “he glorifies Him in that which He has created for 
His glory.” 

“ I do not understand it,” said Flaminia ; “ I feel 
clearly, however, that which I mean to say, but I have not 
the words for it. Of the eternal God, of the divinity in 
His world and in our own hearts, the poet ought to speak, 
ought to lead us to his heart, and not into the wild world.” 

She then inquired from me how it was to be a poet ; 


The Improvisator e. 


325 


how one felt when one improvised ; and I explained to 
her this state of spiritual operation as well as I could. 

“ The thoughts, the ideas,” said she ; “ yes, I under- 
stand very well that they are born in the soul, that they 
come from God ; we all know that, but the beautiful 
metre, the mode in which this consciousness expresses 
itself, that I understand not.” 

“ Have you not,” I inquired, “ often in the convent 
learned one or another beautiful psalm or legend which 
is made in verse ? And then often, when you are least 
thinking about it, some circumstance or another has 
called, up an idea within your mind, by which the 
recollection is awoke of this or that, so that you could, 
then and there, have written them down on paper ; 
verses, rhymes even, have led you to remember the 
succeeding, whilst the thought, the subject, stood clearly 
before you ? Thus is it with the improvisatore and 
poet — with me at least ! At times it seems to me these 
are reminiscences, cradle-songs from another world, 
which awake in my soul, and which I am compelled to 
repeat.” 

“ How often have I felt the same kind of thing !” said 
Flaminia, “but never was able to express it. That 
strange longing, which often took hold upon me, with- 
out my knowing wherefore ! To me it seemed, there- 
fore, so often, that I was not at home here in this wild 
world. The whole seemed to me a great and strange 
dream ; and this was the reason why I longed so again 
for my convent — for my little cell ! I know not how it 
is, Antonio, but there I used so often to see in my 
dreams my bridegroom Jesus and the Holy Virgin ; 
now they present themselves more seldom ; I dream 
now so much about worldly pomp and joy, about so 
much that is wicked. I am certainly no longer so good 
as I was among the sisters ! Why should I have been 


326 


The Improvisatore. 


kept from them so long? Do you know, Antonio, I 
will confess to you, I am no longer innocent, I would too 
gladly adorn my person ; and it gives me so much 
pleasure when they say that I am lovely ! In the con- 
vent they told me that it was only the children of sin 
who thought in this way.” 

“ Oh, that my thoughts were as innocent as yours !” 
said I, bowing myself before her, and kissing her hand. 

She then told me that she remembered how I had 
danced her on my arm when she was little, and had 
drawn pictures for her. 

“ And which you tore in pieces after you had looked 
at them,” said I. 

“ That was hateful of me I” said she ; “but you are 
not angry with me for it !” 

“ I have seen my heart’s best pictures torn in pieces 
since then,” said I ; “ and yet I was not angry with those 
who did it.” 

She stroked me affectionately on the cheek. 

More and more dear did she become to my heart, 
that, indeed, had been repulsed by all the world ; she 
alone was affectionate and sympathizing. 

In the two warmest summer months the family 
removed to Tivoli ; I accompanied them, for which I 
certainly had to thank Flaminia. The glorious scenery 
there, the rich olive-groves, and the foaming waterfall, 
seized upon my soul as the sea had seized upon it, when 
I had seen it for the first time at Terracina. I felt 
myself so exhilarated to leave Rome, the yellow Cam- 
pagna around it, and the oppressive heat. The first 
breath from the mountains, with their dark olive-groves, 
brought again life’s pictures from Naples back to my 
soul. 

Frequently, and with great delight, Flaminia rode, 
with her maid, upon asses, through the mountain valley 


The Improvisa tore. 


327 


of Tivoli ; and I was permitted to attend them. Fla- 
minia had much taste for the picturesque beauty of 
nature, and I therefore attempted to make sketches of 
the rich neighborhood ; the boundless Campagna, when 
the cupola of St. Peter’s raised itself upon the horizon ; 
the fertile sides of the mountains, with their thick 
olive-groves and vineyards ; even Tivoli itself, which 
lay aloft on the cliffs, below which waterfall upon water- 
fall fell foaming into the abyss. 

“ It looks,” said Flaminia, “ as if the whole city stood 
upon loose pieces of rock, which the water would soon 
tear down. Up above those, in the street, one never 
dreams about it, but goes with a light step above an 
open grave !” 

“ So, indeed, do we always !” replied I ; “it is well 
and happy for us that it is concealed from our eyes. 
The foaming waterfalls which we see hurled down here, 
have in them something disturbing, but how much 
more terrible must it be in Naples, where fire is thrown 
up like water here !” 

I then told her about Vesuvius, of my ascent to it ; 
told her about Herculaneum and Pompeii, and she 
drank in every word of my lips. When we were at 
home again, she begged me to tell her more about all 
the glorious things on the other side of the Marshes. 

The sea she could not rightly understand, for she had 
only seen it from the top of the mountains, like a silver 
riband on the horizon. I told her that it was like God’s 
heaven, spread out upon the earth, and she folded her 
hands, and said, “God has made the world infinitely 
beautiful !” 

“ Therefore man ought not to turn himself away from 
the glory of His works, and immure himself up in a 
dark convent !” I would have said, but I dared not. 

One day we stood beside the old Sibyl’s Temple, and 


328 


The Improvisatore. 


looked down upon the two great waterfalls, which, like 
clouds, were hurled into the chasm, whilst a column of 
spray mounted upwards among the green trees, towards 
the blue air ; the sunbeams fell upon the column, and 
caused a rainbow. Within the cavern in the cliff, above 
the lesser waterfall, a flock of doves had established 
themselves ; they flew in wide circles below us, and 
above the great mass of water, which is shivered in its 
fall. 

“ How glorious !” exclaimed Flaminia ; “ now impro- 
vise for me, also, Antonio !” said she, “now sing to me 
a poem about what you see ?” 

I thought upon my heart’s dream, which had all been 
shivered like the water-stream here, and I obeyed her, 
and sang. Sang how life burst forth like the stream, 
but yet every drop of it did not drink in the sunbeam, 
it was only over the whole, over the whole human 
race, that the glory of beauty diffused itself. 

“ No ! anything sorrowful I will not hear !” said 
Flaminia ; “ you shall not sing me anything if you do 
not like to do it. I do not know how it is, Antonio, but 
I do not consider you like the other gentlemen whom I 
know ! I can say anything to you ! You seem to me 
almost like my father and my mother !” 

I possessed also her confidence as she did mine, there 
was so much which agitated my soul, that I longed for 
sympathy. One evening I related to her much of my 
childhood’s life, of my ramble in the Catacombs, of the 
flower feast in Genzano, and of my mother’s death 
when the horses of Excellenza went over us. Of that 
she had never heard. 

“ O Madonna !” said she, “ thus are we guilty of your 
misfortune ! Poor Antonio !” she took my hand, and 
looked sorrowfully into my face. She was greatly 
interested in old Domenica ; inquired whether I fre- 


The Improvisatore. 


3 2 9 


quently visited her, and I took shame to myself to con- 
fess, that, during the last year, I had only been twice 
out there ; although in Rome I had seen her more fre- 
quently, and had always divided my little wealth with 
her, but that was indeed nothing to speak of. 

She besought of me always to tell her more, and so, 
when I had related to her all about my life in child- 
hood, I told her of Bernardo and Annunciata, and she 
looked with an inexpressibly pious expression into my 
very soul. The nearness of innocence directed my 
words. I told her about Naples, touching lightly, very 
lightly upon the shadowy side, and yet she shuddered at 
what I told, shuddered before Santa, the serpent of 
beauty in my Paradise. 

“ No, no !” exclaimed she, “ thither will I never go ! 
No sea, no burning mountain, can cleanse away all the 
sin and abomination of the great city. You are good 
and pious, and therefore did the Madonna protect 
you !” 

I thought of the image of the Mother of God, which 
had fallen down from the wall when my lips met 
Santa’s ; but this I could not tell to Flaminia ; would she 
then have called me good and pious ? I was a sinner 
like the others. Circumstances, the mercy of the 
Mother of God, had watched over me. In the moment 
of temptation I was weak as any of those whom I knew. 

Lara was inexpressibly dear to her. “ Yes,” said she, 
“ when your soul was in God’s heaven, could she only 
come to you ! I can very well fancy her, fancy the 
blue, beaming grotto, where you saw her for the last 
time !” 

Annunciata did not rightly please her. “ How could 
she love the hateful Bernardo ? I would rather not that 
she had been your wife. A woman who thus can come 
forward before a whole public ; a woman — yes, I cannot 


330 


The Improvisatore. 


properly make that intelligible which I mean ! I feel 
however, how beautiful she was, how wise, how many 
advantages she possessed above other women, but it 
does not seem to me that she was worthy of you. Lara 
was a better guardian angel for you !” 

I must now tell her of my improvisation ; and to her 
it seemed that it would be much more terrible in the 
great theatre, than before the robbers in the mountain 
cave. I showed her the Diario Napoli , in which was the 
critique on my first appearance ; how often had I read it 
since then ! 

It amused her to see everything which that paper from 
the foreign city contained. All at once she looked up 
and exclaimed, “ But you never told me, however, that 
Annunciata was in Naples at the same time you were 
there. Here it is stated that she will make her appear- 
ance on the morrow, that is, on the day upon which you 
set out !” 

“ Annunciata !” stammered I, and stared at the paper, 
into which I had so often looked before, and yet, truly 
enough, had never read anything but what had refer- 
red to myself. 

“ That I never saw !” exclaimed I ; and we looked 
silently at each other. “ God be praised that I did not 
meet her, did not see her — she was indeed not mine !” 

“ But if it were to happen now,” asked Flaminia ; 
“ would it not please you ?” 

“ It would be painful to me !” exclaimed I, “ great 
suffering. The Annunciata who captivated me, who 
still exists idolized in my memory, I shall never again 
find ; she would be to me a new creature, who would 
painfully excite a remembrance which I must forget, 
must regard as the property of death ! She stands 
among my dead !” 

On one warm Wednesday, I entered the large general 


The Improvised. ore. 


33i 


sitting-room, where the thick green twining plants over- 
shadowed the window. Flaminia sat, supporting her 
head upon her hand, in a light slumber ; it seemed as if 
she were keeping her eyes closed only for sport. Her 
breast heaved, she dreamed. “ Lara !” said she. In 
dreams she certainly floated with my heart’s dream- 
image, in that splendid world where I last had seen her. 
A smile parted her lips ; she opened her eyes. 

“ Antonio !” said she, “ I have been asleep, and have 
dreamed. Do you know of whom ?” 

“ Lara !” said I ; for I too could not but think of her 
when I saw Flaminia with closed eyes. 

“ I dreamt about her !” said she. “We both of us 
flew far over the great, beautiful sea, which you have 
told me about. Amid the water there lay a rock, on 
which you sat, looking very much dejected, as you often 
do. She then said that we would fly down to you, and 
she sank through the air down to you. I too wished to 
go with her, but the air kept me far aloft, and with 
every stroke of my wings which I made to follow her, I 
seemed to fly farther away. But when I fancied that 
there lay thousands of miles between us, she was at my 
side, and you also !” 

“ Thus will death assemble us !” said I. “ Death is rich, 
he possesses everything which has been dearest to our 
hearts !” 

I spoke with her about my beloved dead, the dead 
even of my thoughts, of my affections, and we often 
turned back to these reminiscences. 

She then asked me if I would also think of her when 
we were separated. Very soon she should be really 
again in the convent, a nun, the bride of Christ, and we 
should never see each other more. 

Deep suffering penetrated my soul at this thought ; I 
felt right livingly how dear Flaminia had become to me, 


332 


The Iniprovisatore. 


One day, when she, and her mother, and I, were walk- 
ing in the garden of the Villa d’Este, where the tall 
cypresses grow, we went up the long alley which runs 
up to the artificial fountain. Here lay a ragged beggar 
pulling up the grass from the walk, and as soon as he 
saw us, he prayed for a bajocco. I gave him a paolo, 
and Flaminia smiling kindly, gave him another. 

“Madonna reward the .young Excellenza and his 
handsome bride !” cried he after us. 

Francesca laughed aloud ; it ran like burning fire 
through my blood, I had not courage to look at Flaminia. 
In my soul a thought had awoke, which I had never 
dared to unveil before to myself. Slowly, but firmly, 
had Flaminia grown into my heart; it must bleed, I felt, 
when we parted from each other. She was the only one 
to whom my soul now clung ; the only one who affec- 
tionately met my thoughts and feelings. Was it love ? 
Did I love her ? The feeling which Annunciata had 
awoke in my soul was very different ; even the sight of 
Lara, the remembrance of her, had something much 
more allied to this feeling. Intellect and beauty had 
captivated me in Annunciata ; ideal beauty mingled 
itself with the first view of Lara, which made my heart 
swell. No, this was not my love for Flaminia. It was 
not the wild, burning passion, it was friendship; a 
brother’s most living love. I felt the connextion in 
which I stood to her, with regard to her family and her 
destination, and was in despair at the thought of separa- 
tion from her ; she was to me my all, — my dearest in 
this world ; but I had no wish to press her to my heart, 
to breathe a kiss upon her lips, as had been my whole 
thoughts with regard to Annunciata, and which, as an 
invisible power, had driven me towards the blind girl ; 
no, this was to me quite foreign. 

“ The young Excellenza and his handsome bride !” as 


The Improvisator e . 


333 


the beggar had cried, resounded continually in my soul. 
I sought to read every wish on Flaminia’s lips, and hung 
about her like her shadow. When others were present, 
I became constrained and dejected. I felt the thousand 
bonds which pressed heavily upon me ; I became silent 
and absent, for her alone was I eloquent. She was so 
dear to me, and I must lose her. 

“Antonio!" said she, “you are unwell, or something 
has happened which I may not know ? Why not ? may 
I not ?" 

With her whole soul she depended on me, and I 
desired to be to her a dear, faithful brother ; and yet my 
conversation perpetually tended to lead her out into the 
world. I told her how I myself had once wished to be 
a monk, and how unhappy I should have been if I had 
become so, because sooner or later the heart asserts its 
rights. 

“ I,” said she, “ shall feel myself happy, very happy, 
to return again to my pious sisters — among them I am 
only rightly at home. Then I shall very often think 
upon the time when I was out in the world, shall think 
of everything of which you have told me. It will be a 
beautiful dream, I feel it so already. I shall pray for 
you, pray that the wicked world may never corrupt you ; 
that you may become very happy, and that the world 
may rejoice in your song, and that you may feel how 
good the dear Lord is to you and to us altogether." 

Tears streamed from my eyes ; I sighed deeply, “We 
shall then never see each other more !” 

“ Yes, with God and the Madonna !" said she, and 
smiled piously. “ There you shall show me Lara ! 
there also shall she receive the sight of her eyes. Oh, 
yes, with the Madonna it is the best !" 

We removed again to Rome. In a few weeks, I heard 
it said that Flaminia was to return to the convent, and 


334 


The Improvisatore. 


shortly after that to take the veil. My heart was rent 
with pain, and yet I was obliged to conceal it. How for- 
lorn and desolate should I not be when she had left 
us ! how like a stranger and alone should I now stand ! 
what grief of heart I should experience ! I endeavored 
to hide it — to be cheerful — to be quite different to what 
I was. 

They spoke of the pomp of her investure as if it had 
been a feast of gladness. But could she, however, go 
away from us ? They had befooled her mind, they had 
befooled her understanding. Her beautiful long hair 
was to be cut away from her head, the living was to be 
clothed in a shroud ; she would hear the funeral bells 
ring, and only as the dead rise up the bride of heaven. 
I said this to Flaminia. With an anguish as of death 
besought of her to think about what she was doing, of 
thus going down alive to the grave. 

“Let nobody hear what you are saying, Antonio!” 
said she, with a solemnity which I had never seen in her 
before. “ The world has all too firm a hold upon you, 
look more to that which is heavenly.” 

She became crimson, seized my hand, as if she had 
spoken to me with too much severity, and said, with 
the most heartfelt gentleness, “ You will not distress 
me, Antonio ?” 

I then sank down before her feet, she stood like a 
saint before me, my whole soul clung to her. How 
many tears did I shed that night ! my strong feeling for 
her seemed to me a sin, she was really the bride of the 
Church. I daily saw her, daily learned to value her 
more highly. She talked to me like a sister, looked into 
my face, offered me her hand, said that her soul was 
filled with desires for me, and that I was dear to her. 
I convulsively concealed the night of death which 
lay in my soul, and it maple me happy that it was known 


The Imp rovisa to re. 


335 


to no one. God send death to a heart which suffers as 
mine suffered ! 

The moment of separation stood horribly before me, 
and a wicked spirit whispered in my ear, “ Thou lovest 
her !” and I really did not love her as I had loved 
Annunciata, my heart trembled not as it had done 
when my lips touched Lara’s forehead. “ Say to Fla- 
minia that thou canst not live without her ; she also is 
attached to thee as a sister to a brother. Say that thou 
lovest her ! Excellenza and the whole family will con- 
demn thee, turn thee out into the world ; but then in 
losing her thou losest everything. Thy choice is easy !” 

How often did this confession arise to my lips, but 
my heart trembled, and I was silent ; it was a fever, a 
fever of death, which agitated my blood, my thoughts ! 

All was in a state of preparation within the palace for 
a splendid ball, a flower-festival for the sacrificial tomb. 
I saw her in the rich, magnificent dress ; she was 
unspeakably lovely. 

“ Now be gay like the others V* she whispered to me ; 
“it distresses me to see ‘you so dejected. Often shall I 
certainly, for your sake, when I am sitting in my con- 
vent, send my thoughts back to the world, and that is 
sin, Antonio. Promise me that you will become more 
cheerful — promise me that you will forgive my father 
and mother when they are a little severe towards you. 
They mean it for your good. Promise me that you will 
not think so much on the bitterness of the world, and 
will be always good and pious as you now are ; then I 
may dare still to think of you, still to pray for you, and 
Madonna is good and merciful.” 

Her words penetrated my heart. I see her yet as she 
was that last evening before she left us — she was so 
merry. She kissed her father and the old Excellenza, 


336 


The Improvisatore . 


and spoke of the separation as if it were only for a few 
days. 

“Now say farewell to Antonio,” said Fabiani, who 
was much affected, while the others appeared not to be 
so. I hastily hurried up to her, and bowed to kiss her 
hand. 

“ Antonio !” said she ; her voice was so low, tears 
streamed from my eyes. “ Mayst thou be happy !” 

I knew not how to tear myself away ; for the last 
time I looked into her pious, gentle countenance. 

“ Farewell [” she said, scarcely audibly. She bent 
towards me, and, impressing a kiss upon my forehead, 
said, “ Thanks for thy affection, my dear brother !” 

More I knew not ! I rushed out of the hall and into 
my own chamber, where I could weep freely ; it was as 
if the world sank away from under my feet. 

And I saw her yet once more ! When the time 
was accomplished I saw her. The sun shone so warm 
and cheerfully. I saw Flaminia in all her rich pomp 
and magnificence, as she was led up to the altar by her 
father and her mother. I heard plainly the singing, 
and perceived that many people were kneeling all 
around, but there stood distinctly before me only the 
pale, mild countenance — an angel it was — which kneeled 
with the priests before the high altar. 

I saw how they took the costly veil from her head, 
and the abundant hair fell down upon her shoulders ; I 
heard the shears divide it — they stripped her of her rich 
clothing — she stretched herself upon the bier ; the pall 
and the black cloth, upon which are painted death’s 
heads, were thrown over her. The church-bells tolled 
for the burial procession, and the song for the dead was 
intoned. Yes, dead was she — buried to this world. 

The black grate before the entrance to the interior 
to the convent was raised, the sisters stood in their 


The Improvisatore. 


337 


white linen vestments, and sang the angel’s welcome to 
their new sister. The bishop extended to her his hand, 
and the bride of heaven arose. Elizabeth, she was now 
called. I saw the last glance which she directed to the 
assembly ; after this she gave her hand to the nearest 
sister, and entered into the grave of life. 

The black grating fell ! I still saw the outline of her 
figure — the last wave of her garment — and she was 
gone ! 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

OLD DOMENICA — THE DISCOVERY — THE EVENING IN NEPI — 
THE BOATMAN’S SONG — VENICE. 

Congratulations were now offered in the Borghese 
Palace. Flaminia- Elizabeth was really the bride of 
heaven. Francesca’s seriousness was not concealed by 
her artificial smile ; the tranquility which lay on her 
countenance was banished from her heart. 

Fabiani, most deeply affected, said to me, “ You have 
lost your best benefactress ! You have reason for being 
very much depressed ! She desired me to give you 
some scudi,” continued he, “ for old Domenica ; you 
have certainly spoken to her about your old foster- 
mother. Take her these, they are Flaminia’s gift.” 

The dead lay like a snake around my heart ; my 
thoughts were life’s weariness, I trembled before them, 
before them self-murder seemed to lose its terrors. 

“ Out into the free air !” thought I ; “to the home of 
my childhood, where Domenica sang cradle-songs to 
me ; where I played and dreamed.” 

Yellow and scorched lay the Campagna ; not a green 


338 


The Improvisator e . 


blade spoke of the hope of life ; the yellow Tiber rolled 
its waves towards the sea in order to vanish there. I 
saw again the old burial-place, with the thick ivy over 
the roof, and depending from the walls ; the little 
world which, as a child, I had called my own. The 
door stood open ; a pleasant melancholy feeling filled 
my heart ; I thought of Domenica’s affection and her 
joy at seeing me. It certainly was a year since I had 
last been out there, and eight months since I had spoken 
with her in Rome, and she had prayed me to go very 
often to see her. I had very often thought about her, 
had talked of her to Flaminia ; but our summer resi- 
dence in Tivoli, and my excited state of mind since our 
return, had prevented my going out to the Campagna. 

I heard, in thought, her scream of joy as she saw me, 
and hastened my steps ; but when I came pretty near 
the door, walked very softly to prevent her hearing me. 
I looked into the room ; in the middle of the room 
stood a great iron-pan over a fire, some reeds were laid 
upon it, and a young fellow blew them ; he turned his 
head and saw me ; it was Pietro, the little child which 
I had nursed here. 

“ Saint Joseph !” exclaimed he, and sprung up over- 
joyed, “ is it your Excellency ? It is a long, long time 
since you were so gracious as to come here !” 

I extended to him my hand, which he would kiss. 

“ Nay, nay, Pietro !” said I ; “it almost seems as if I 
had forgotten my old friends, but I have not.” 

“ No, the good old mother said so, too,” cried he. “ O 
Madonna ! how glad she would have been to have seen 
you !” 

“ Where is Domenica ?” inquired I. 

“ Ah !” returned he ; “ it is now half a year since she 
was laid under the earth. She died whilst Excellenza 
was in Tivoli. She was only ill for a few days, but 


The Improvisatore. 


339 


through all that time she talked about her dear Antonio. 
Yes, Excellenza, do not be angry that I call you by that 
name, but she was so very fond of you. ‘ Would that 
my eyes could see him before they are closed !’ said 
she, and longed so very much for it. And when I saw 
very well that she could not last the night over, I went 
in the afternoon to Rome ; I knew very well that you 
would not be angry at my request. I would have 
prayed ot you to have accompanied me to the old 
mother, but when I got there you and the gentle folks 
were all gone to Tivoli ; so I came home full of trouble ; 
but when I came to the house she was already gone tq 
sleep.” 

He held his hands before his face and wept. 

Every word which he had said fell heavily upon my 
heart. I had been her dying thought, and, at the same 
time, my thoughts had been far away from her. Would 
that I had only said farewell to her before I set off for 
Tivoli ! I was not a good man ! 

I gave the money to Pietro from Flaminia, and all 
that I had also. He sank down upon his knees before 
me, and called me his guardian angel. It sounded like 
a jest in my heart. With a two-fold sense of suffering, 
cut, as it were, to the very heart, I left the Campagna. 
I know not how I reached home. 

For three long days I lay without consciousness in a 
violent fever. God knows what, during this time, I 
said ; but Fabiani frequently came to me ; he had 
appointed the deaf Fenella to be my nurse. No one 
named Flaminia to me. I had returned home ill from 
the Campagna, and had laid myself immediately on my 
bed, when the fever took hold upon me. 

I recovered my strength, but very slowly ; in vain I 
endeavored to compel myself to humor and cheerful- 
ness ; I was possessed of neither. 


340 


The Improvisatore. 


It was about six weeks after this time, when Flaminia 
took the veil, that the physician permitted me to go out. 
Almost without knowing whither I directed my steps, I 
went to the Porta pia ; my eye gazed down upon the 
Quattri Fontane, but I had not courage enough to pass 
the convent. Some evenings, however, after this, when 
the new moon shone in the heavens, the emotions of my 
heart drew me thither ; I saw the gray convent walls, 
the grated windows, Flaminia’s closed grave. “ Where- 
fore dared I not to see the burial-place of the dead ?” 
said I to myself, and felt within me a resolution to 
do so. 

Every evening I took my way past there. “ I was very 
fond of walking to the Villa Albani,” said I to those of 
my acquaintance whom I met by chance. “ God knows 
what will be the end of it !” sighed my heart ; “ I 
cannot endure it long !” I was then just at the goal. 

It was a dark 'evening ; a ray of light streamed down 
the wall of the convent ; I leaned myself against the 
corner of a house, fixed my eyes upon this bright point, 
and thought on Flaminia. 

“ Antonio !” said a voice close behind me, “ Antonio, 
what are you doing here ?” 

It was Fabiani. “ Follow me home !” said he. 

I accompanied him ; we spoke not a word by the 
way ; he knew it all as well as I myself did ; I felt that 
he did so. I was an ingrate ; I had not courage to look 
at him. Presently, and we were alone in my chamber. 

“ You are yet ill, Antonio,” said he, with an unusual 
solemnity in his voice. “ You need occupation, change 
of scene. It will do you good to mix more in the world. 
There was a time when you spread out your wings for 
freedom ; perhaps it was unjust in me that I decoyed the 
bird back to his cage. It is a great deal better for human 
beings to have their will, then if misfortune befall them 


The Improvisator e. 


34i 


they have only themselves to blame. You are quite old 
enough to direct your own steps. A little journey will 
be beneficial to you ; the physician is of the same 
opinion, also. You have already seen Naples, visit now 
the north of Italy. I shall provide the means for it. It 
is the best thing for you, necessary, and,” added he, 
with a seriousness, a severity, which I had never known 
in him before, “ I am convinced that you will never 
forget the benefits which we have conferred upon you. 
Never occasion us mortification, shame and sorrow, 
which indiscretion or blind passion might do. A man 
can do anything, whatever he will, if he be only a good 
man.” 

His words struck me to the earth like a flash of 
lightning ; I bent my knee, and pressed his hand to my 
lips. 

“ I know very well,” said he, half- jestingly, “ that we 
may have done you injustice ; that we have been 
unreasonable and severe. No persons, hcfwever, will 
intend more uprightly and more kindly towards you, 
than we have done. You Will hear more flattering 
modes of speech, more loving words, but not more true 
integrity than we have shown you. For a year you shall 
move about. Let us then see what is your state of 
mind, and whether we have done you an injustice.” 

With these words he left me. 

Had the world still new suffering for me — still fresh 
poison-drops ? Even the only draught of consolation, 
freedom to fly about in God’s world, fell like gall into 
my deep wound. Far from Rome, far from the south, 
where lay all the flowers of my remembrance, over the 
Apennines, toward the north, where there actually lay 
snow upon the lofty mountains ! Cold blown from the 
Alps into my warm blood ? Toward the north, to the 
floating Venice, the bride of the sea ! God ! let me 


34 ^ 


The Improvisatore . 


never more return to Rome, to the grave of my cher- 
ished memories ! Farewell, my home, my native city ! 

The carriage rolled across the desolate Campagna. 
The dome of St. Peter’s was concealed behind the hills. 
We drove past Monte Sorecte, across the mountains to 
the narrow Nepi. It was a bright moonlight evening. 
A monk was preaching before the door of the hotel ; 
the crowd repeated his Viva Santa Maria ! and followed 
him, singing through the streets. The crowd of people 
carried me along with them. The old aqueduct, with 
its thick, twining plants, and the dark olive groves 
around, formed a dark picture, which corresponded to 
my state of mind. 

I passed through the gate by which I had entered. 
Just outside of this lay the vast ruins of a castle or con- 
vent, the broad highroad running through its dilapi- 
dated halls, a little path turned from the main-road, and 
led into the midst of them ; ivy and maiden’s hair grew 
dependingly from the walls of the solitary cells. I 
entered into a large hall ; tall grass grew above the 
rubbish and the overthrown capitals, enwreathing vine- 
shoots moved their broad leaves through the great 
Gothic windows, where now were only small remains of 
loosely hanging painted glass. Aloft, upon the walls, 
grew bushes and hedges ; the beams of the moon fell 
upon a fresco-painting of Saint Sebastian, who stood 
bleeding, and pierced with an arrow. Deep organ- 
tones resounded, as it seemed, continuously through the 
hall ; I followed the sounds, and passing out through a 
narrow door, found myself among myrtle-hedges and 
luxuriant vine-leaves, close to a perpendicular descent of 
great depth, down which a waterfall was precipitated 
foamingly white in the clear moonlight. 

The whole romantic scene would have surprised any 
mind, yet perhaps my distress would have allowed it to 


The Improvisatore . 


343 


slide out of my memory, had not that which I saw 
further impressed it painfully, deeply into my heart. I 
followed the narrow, almost overgrown path, close to 
the abyss, towards the broad highway. Close beside 
me, from over the lofty, white wall, upon which the 
moon was shining, stared three pale heads, behind an 
iron-grating, the heads of three executed robbers, which, 
as in Rome, on the Porta del Angelo, were placed in 
iron-cages, to serve as a terror and a warning to others. 
There was to me nothing terrible in them. In earlier 
days, the sight would have driven me away from hence ; 
but suffering makes philosophers. The bold head, 
which had been occupied by thoughts of death and 
plunder, the mountain’s daring eagle, was now a silent, 
captive bird, which sat quietly and rationally in its cage, 
like other imprisoned birds. I stepped up quite close 
to them ; they had certainly been placed there within 
these very few days, every feature was still recognizable. 
But, as I gazed on the middle one, my pulse beat 
stronger ; it was the head of an old woman ! The skin 
was yellow-brown, the eyes half open, the long silver- 
white hair, which hung through the grating, waved in 
the wind. My eye fell upon the stone tablet in the wall, 
where, according to old custom, the name and crime of 
the executed were engraved. Here stood “ Fulvia.” I 
saw also the name of her native city, “ Frascati and, 
agitated to the very depths of my soul, I stepped back a 
few paces. 

Fulvia, the singular old woman, who had once saved 
my life, she who had obtained the means for my going 
to Naples, my life’s inexplicable spirit, did I thus meet 
with her again ! With these pale, blue lips had she 
once pressed my forehead ; these lips, which, to the 
crowd had spoken prophetic words, had given life and 
death, were now silent, breathing forth horror from 


344 


The Improvisator e . 


their very silence ! Thou didst prophesy my fortune ! 
Thy bold eagle lies with clipped wings, and has never 
reached the sun ! In the combat with his misfortune, 
he sinks down into the great Nemi-lake of life ! His 
pinion is broken ! 

I burst into tears, repeated Fulvia’s name, and slowly 
retraced my steps though the desolate ruins. Never 
shall I forget that evening in Nepi. 

The next morning we journeyed onward, and came to 
Ferni, where is the largest and most beautiful waterfall 
in Italy. I rode from the city through the thick, dark 
olive-groves, the first which I had penetrated ; wet 
clouds hung around the summits of the mountains, every- 
thing to the north of Rome appeared to me dark, 
nothing smiling and beautiful, as the marshes and as 
the orange-gardens of Terracina, where the green palm- 
trees grow. Perhaps it was my own heart which gave 
the whole this dark coloring. 

We went through a garden ; a luxuriant orange-alley 
extended itself between the rock wall and the river, 
which rushed onward with the speed of an arrow. 
Between the rocks I saw a cloud of spray ascend high 
up in the path, upon which a rainbow played. We 
ascended amid a wilderness of rosemary and myrtle ; 
and, from the very summit of the mountain, above the 
sloping, rocky wall, was hurled the monstrous mass of 
waters. A lesser arm of the river moved along, like a 
broad, silver riband close beside, and united below the 
rocks to form a broad cascade, which, white as milk, 
whirled itself down the black chasm. I thought upon 
the cascades at Tivoli, where I had improvised to Fla- 
minia. The lofty, rushing stream sang to me with a 
penetratingly thrilling organ-tone the remembrance of 
my loss and my suffering. To be crushed, to die, and 
vanish, is the lot of Nature ! 


The Iniprovisa to re. 


345 


“ Here,” said our guide, “ was an Englishman shot 
last year by robbers. It was a band from the Sabine 
mountains, although one may say that they have a home 
in all the mountains from Rome to Femi. The author- 
ities are now always so much on the alert ! They laid 
their hands on three unfortunates ; I saw them driven 
to the city chained to a cart. At the gate sat the wise 
Fulvia, as we called her, from the Sabine mountains ; 
she was old, and yet always young ; she knew more 
than many a monk who will get the cardinal's hat ; 
she could tell fortunes in figurative words ; and since 
these people have said that it was a sign that she was 
in connection with them. Now they have taken her 
and many of the robbers ; her hour was come, so now 
her head is placed grinning over the gate at Nepi.” 

It was as if everything, man as well as nature, would 
cast night into my soul ; I felt a desire with the speed 
of the wind to chase through the country. The dark 
olive groves threw more shadow into my soul ; the 
mountains oppressed me. Away to the sea, where the 
wind blew ! to the sea, where one heaven bore us, and 
another vaulted itself high above us ! The world's grief 
must be great when my lot was to be envied ! 

To the sea, the wonderful sea ! That is to me a new 
world. To Venice, the strangely floating city, the queen 
of the Adriatic ! But not through the dark woods, the 
together-compressing mountains, quick, in easy flight 
over the billows ! So dreamed my thoughts. 

It had been my plan to go first to Florence, and there- 
fore through Bologna and Ferrara. I altered this, how- 
ever, left the vetturino in Spoleto, took a place in the 
mail, and posted over the Apennines in the dark night, 
through Loretto, without even visiting its holy house. 
Madonna forgive me my sin ! 

High up, on the mountain-road, I had already dis- 


346 


The Improvisatore. 


cemed the Adriatic Sea as a silver stripe on the 
horizon ; the mountains lay like gigantic waves below 
me, and now I saw the blue, heaving sea, with its 
national pennons and flags upon its ships. I thought of 
Naples as I saw this ; but no Vesuvius heaved itself 
with its black column of smoke, no Capri lay beyond. 
I slept here one night, and dreamed of Fulvia and Fla- 
minia. “The palm-tree of thy fortune is budding 
green !” said they both, and smiled. I awoke, and the 
day was shining into my chamber. 

“ Signor !” said the waiter ; “ a vessel lies here which 
is about ready to sail for Venice ; but will you not first 
of all see our city ?” ' 

“ To Venice !” cried I, “ quick, quick ! that is exactly 
my wish.” 

An inexplicable feeling drove me onward. I stepped 
on board, ordered my light luggage to be sent after me, 
and looked out over the infinite sea. “ Farewell, my 
fatherland !” Now, for the first time, I seemed rightly 
to have flown forth into the world, as my feet no longer 
trod upon the earth. I knew perfectly that the north 
of Italy would present to me a new style of scenery. 
Venice itself was really so different to any other Italian 
city ; a richly adorned bride for the mighty sea. The 
winged Venetian lion waved on the flag above me. The 
sails swelled in the wind, and concealed the coast from 
me. I sat upon the right side of the ship, and looked 
out across the blue, billowy sea; a young lad sat not far 
from me, and sang a Venetian song about the bliss of 
love and the shortness of life. 

“ Kiss the red lips, on the morrow thou art with the 
dead ; love, whilst thy heart is young, and thy blood is 
fire and flame ! Gray hairs are the flowers of death ; 
then is the blood ice ; then is the flame extinguished ! 
Come into the light gondola ! We sit concealed under 


The Ini p rovisa tore. 


347 


its roof, we cover the windows, we close the door, 
nobody sees thee, my love ! Nobody sees how happy 
we are. We are rocked upon the waves ; the waves 
embrace, and so do we ! Love whilst youth is in thy 
blood. Age kills with frost and with snow !” 

As he sung, he smiled and nodded to the others around 
him ; and they sang in chorus, about kissing and loving 
while the heart was young. It was a merry song, very 
merry ; and yet it sounded like a magical song of death 
in my heart. Yes, the years speed away, the flames of 
youth are extinguished. I had poured the holy oil of 
love out over the earth, which kindled neither light nor 
warmth ; to be sure it does no damage ; but it flows 
into the grave, without brightening or warming. No 
promise, indeed, binds me — no obligation ! Why do 
not my lips snatch at the refreshing draught of affection 
which they pine for ? I had a feeling ; yes — how shall 
I call it ? — a dissatisfaction with myself. Was it the 
wild fire in my breast, which had scorched up my under- 
standing t I felt a sort of bitterness against myself for 
having fled from Santa. The holy image of the 
Madonna fell down ! It was the rusted nail which gave 
way ; and the Jesuit-school’s conventual bashfulness, 
and the goat’s milk in my blood, chased me thence. 
How beautiful Santa was ! I saw her burning, affec- 
tionate glance, and I grew angry with myself ! Where- 
fore should I not be like Bernardo, like a thousand 
others, like all my young friends ! None, none of all 
these would have been a fool as I had been. My heart 
desired love ; God had ordained it, who had implanted 
this feeling within me. I was still young, however ; 
Venice was a gay city, full of beautiful women. And 
what does the world give me for my virtue, thought I, for 
my child-like temper ? Ridicule and time bring bitter- 
ness and gray hairs. Thus thought I, and sang in 


34§ 


The Improvisatore . 


chorus with the rest, of kissing and loving, whilst the 
heart was yet young. 

It was delirium, the madness of suffering, which 
excited these thoughts in my soul. He who gave to me 
my life, my feelings, and directed my whole destiny, 
will lead me in love. There are combats, thoughts even, 
which the most mortal dare not to express, because the 
angel of Innocence in our breast regards them as sinful. 
They who indulge the longings of their hearts may 
philosophize beautifully over my speech. Judge not, 
lest ye be judged ! I felt it — in myself — in my own 
corrupt nature, there abode no good thing. I could not 
pray ; and yet I slept whilst the vessel flew onward to 
the north — to the rich Venice. 

In the morning hour, I discerned the white buildings 
and the towers of Venice, which seemed like a crowd of 
ships with outspread sails. To the left stretched itself 
the kingdom of Lombardy, with its flat coast ; the Alps 
seemed like pale blue mist in the horizon. Here was 
the heaven wide. Here the half of the hemisphere 
could mirror itself in the heart. 

In this sweet morning air my thoughts were milder ; 
I was more cheerful. I thought about the history of 
Venice, of the city’s wealth and pomp, its independence 
and supremacy; of the magnificent doges, and their 
marriage with the sea. We advanced nearer and nearer 
to the sea ; I could already distinguish the individual 
houses across the Lagunes ; but their yellow-gray walls, 
neither old nor new, did not wear a pleasing aspect. 
St. Mark’s Tower I had also imagined to be much 
loftier. We sailed in between the mainland and the 
Lagunes, which, like a crooked wall of earth, stretched 
out into the sea. Everywhere it was flat. The shore 
seemed to be scarcely an inch higher than the sur- 
face of the water. A few mean houses they called the 


The Improvisatore . 


349 


city Fusina ; here and there stood a bush ; and, except- 
ing these, there was nothing at all on the flat land. I 
had fancied that we were quite close upon Venice, 
which, however, still lay a mile distant ; and, between 
us and it, lay an unsightly muddy water, with broad isl- 
ands of slime, upon which not a single bird could find 
footing, and not a single blade of grass could take root. 

Through the whole extent of this lake were dug deep 
canals, bordered with great piles to indicate their direc- 
tion. I now saw the gondola for the first time ; long 
and narrow, quick as a dart, but all painted coal-black. 
The little cabin in the centre, covered over with black 
cloth ; it was a floating hearse, which shot past us with 
the speed of an arrow. The water was no longer blue, 
as it was out in the open sea, or close upon the coast of 
Naples ; it was of a dirty green. We passed by an 
island where the houses seemed to grow up out of the 
water, or to have clung to a wreck ; aloft upon the walls 
stood the Madonna and the child, and looked out over 
this desert. In some places, the surface of the water 
was like a moving green plain — a sort of duck-pool, 
between the deep sea and the black islands of soft mud. 
The sun shone upon Venice ; all the bells were ringing ; 
but it looked nevertheless dead and solitary ! Only one 
ship lay in the docks ; and not a single man could I see. 

I stepped down into the black gondola, and sailed up 
into the dead street, where everything was water, not a 
foot-breadth upon which to walk. Large buildings 
stood with open doors, and with steps down to the 
water , the water ran into the great door-ways, like a 
canal , and the palace-court itself seemed only a four- 
cornered well, into which people could sail, but scarcely 
turn the gondola. The water had left its greenish slime 
upon the walls ; the great marble palace .seemed as if 
sinking together ; in the broad windows, rough boards 


350 


The Improvisatore. 


were nailed up to the gilded, half-decayed beams. The 
proud giant-body seemed to be falling away peacemeal ; 
the whole had an air of depression about it. The ring- 
ing of the bells ceased, not a sound, excepting the splash 
of the oars in the water, was to be heard, and I still saw 
not a human being. The magnificent Venice lay like a 
dead swan upon the waves. 

We crossed about into the other streets. Small, nar- 
row bridges of masonry hung over the canals ; and I 
now saw people who skipped over me, in among the 
houses, and in among the walls even ; for I saw no 
other streets than those in which the gondolas glided. 

“ But where do the people walk ?” inquired I of my 
gondolier ; and he pointed to small passages by the 
bridges, between the lofty houses. Neighbor could 
reach his hand to neighbor, from the sixth story across 
the street ; three people could hardly pass each other 
below, where not a sunbeam found its way. Our gon- 
dola had passed on, and all was still as death. 

“ Is this Venice ! — The rich bride of the sea ? — The 
mistress of the world ?” 

I saw the magnificent square of St. Mark’s. “ Heye 
is life !” people said. But how very different is it in 
Naples, nay, even in Rome, upon the animated Corso ! 
And yet the square of St. Mark’s is the heart of Venice, 
where life does exist. Shops of books, pearls, and pic- 
tures, adorn the long colonnades, where, however, it 
was not yet animated enough. A crowd of Greeks and 
Turks, in bright dresses, and with long pipes in their 
mouths, sat quietly outside of the coffee-houses. The 
sun shone upon the golden cupola of St. Mark’s church, 
and upon the glorious bronze horses over the portal. 
From the red masts of the ships of Cyprus, Candia, and 
Morea, depended the motionless flags. A flock of 


The Improvisatore. 


35i 


pigeons filled the square by thousands, and bent daintily 
upon the broad pavement. 

I visited the Ponte Rialto, the pulse- vein of which 
spoke of life ; and I soon comprehended the great pic- 
ture of Venice — the picture of mourning — the impres- 
sion of m> own soul. I seemed yet to be at sea, only 
removed from a smaller to a greater ship, a floating 
ark. 

The evening came ; and when the moonbeams cast 
their uncertain light, and diffused broader shadows, I 
felt myself more at home ; in the hour of the spirit- 
world, I could first become familiar with the dead bride. 

I stood at the open window ; the black gondolas 
glided quickly over the dark, moonlit waters. I thought 
upon the seaman’s song of kissing and of love ; felt a 
bitterness towards Annunciata, who had preferred the 
inconstant Bernardo to me ; and why ? — perhaps pre- 
cisely because of the piquancy which this inconstancy 
gave him — such are women ! I felt bitterness even 
towards the innocent, pious Flaminia; the tranquility 
of the convent was more to her than my strong, bro- 
therly love. No, no, I would love neither of them 
more ; there was an emptiness in my heart of all, even 
of those which had once been dear to it. I would think 
of neither of them, I resolved ; and, like an uneasy 
ghost, my thoughts floated between Lara, the image of 
beauty, and Santa, the daughter of sin. 

I entered a gondola, and allowed myself to be taken 
through the streets in the silent evening. The rowers 
sung their alternating song, but it was not from the 
“ Gerusalemme Liber ata /* the Venetians had forgotten 
even the old melodies of the heart, for their doges were 
dead, and foreign hands had bound the wings of the 
lion, which was harnessed to their triumphal car. 

“ I will seize upon life — will enjoy it to the last drop!” 


352 


The Improvisator e. 


said I, as the gondola lay still. We were at the hotel 
where I lodged. I went to my own room, and lay down 
to sleep. 

Such was my first day in Venice — a dark and evil day 
— a day which left no peace behind it. But God, like 
a loving parent in His treatment of a wayward child, 
left me at times to my own course, that I might find 
how far I had gone from light and peace. Blessed be 
His great name ! 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE STORM — SOIREE AT MY BANKER^ — THE NIECE OF THE 
PODESTA. 

The letters which I had brought with me obtained 
for me acquaintances — friends, as they called them- 
selves ; and I was the Signor Abbe. Nobody instructed 
me, but they discovered that everything which I said 
was good, excellent, and that I was possessed of talents. 
From Excellenza and Francesca I often heard such 
things said as were very painful to me ; I was often 
told that which was very unpleasant for me to hear ; it 
seemed to me almost as if they sought out for every- 
thing bad against me, that they might tell me that 
there were a great many people who did not at all 
mean so kindly by me. But this failed of its object. 
Of a certainty I had, however, no honest friends, since it 
was those only who told me disagreeable things. But 
I, however, felt no longer my subordinate condition, the 
sense of which not even Flaminia’s goodness could 
remove. 



<< 


WHO ARE YOU 1 WHAT DO YOU WANT HERE V 9 SHE EXCLAIMED. — See Page 375. 











The Improvisatore. 


353 


I had now visited the rich palace of the doges, had 
wandered in the empty, magnificent halls ; seen the 
chamber of the Inquisition, with the frightful picture 
of the torments of hell. I went through a narrow gal- 
lery, over a covered bridge, high upon the roof, above 
the canals on which the gondolas glided ; this is the 
way from the doge’s palace to the prisons of Venice. 
This bridge is called the Bridge of Sighs. Close beside 
it lie the wells. The light of the lamp alone from the 
passage can force its way between the close iron bars 
into the uppermost dungeon ; and yet this was a 
cheerful, airy hall, in comparison with those which lie 
lower down, below the swampy cellars, deeper even 
than the water outside in the canals ; and yet in these, 
unhappy captives had sighed, and inscribed their names 
on the damp walls. 

II Air, air .” demanded my heart, rent with the horrors 
of this place ; and, entering the gondola, I flew with the 
speed of an arrow from the pale-red old palace, and 
from the columns of St. Theodoret and the Venetian 
lion, forth over the living, green water to the Lagunes 
and Lido, that I might breathe the fresh air of the sea — 
and I found a churchyard. 

Here is the stranger, the Protestant, buried, far from 
his native country — buried upon a little strip of land 
among the waves, which day by day seem to rend away 
more and more of its small remains. White human 
bones stuck out from the sand ; the billows alone wept 
over them. Here often had sat the fisherman’s bride or 
wife, waiting for the lover or the husband, who had 
gone out fishing upon the uncertain sea. The storm 
arose, and rested again upon its strong pinions ; and 
the woman sang her songs out of “ Gerusalemme 
Liberata y and listened to hear whether the man replied. 
But love gave no return in song ; alone she sat there, 


354 


The Improvisator e. 


and looked out over the silent sea. Then, also, her lips 
became silent ; her eye saw only the white bones of the 
dead in the sand ; she heard only the hollow booming 
of the billows, whilst night ascended over the dead, 
silent Venice. 

The dark picture filled my thoughts, my whole state 
of mind gave it a strong coloring. Solemn as a church, 
reminding of graves and the invisible saints, stood 
before me the entire scene. Flaminia’s words resounded 
in my ear, that the poet, who was a prophet of God, 
should endeavor only to express the glorification of 
God, and that subjects which tended to this were of the 
highest character. The immortal soul ought to sing of 
the immortal ; the glitter of the moment changed its 
play of color, and vanished with the instant that gave 
it birth. Kindling strength and inspiration fired my 
soul, but quickly died away again. I silently entered 
the gondola, which bore me towards Lido. The great ; 
open sea lay before me, and rolled onward to the shore ; 
in long billows. I thought of the bay of Amalfi. 

Just beside me, among sea-grass and stones, sat a 
young man sketching, certainly a foreign painter ; it - 
seemed to me that I recognized him, I stepped nearer, 
he raised his head, and we knew each other. It was \ 
Poggio, a young Venetian nobleman. I had been 
several times in company with him in the families whom l 
I visited. 

“ Signore,” exclaimed he, “ you on Lido ! Is it the 7 
beauty of the scene, or,” added he, “ some other beauty 
which has brought you so near to the angry Adriatic ?” 

We offered each other our hands. I knew something 
about him ; that he had no property, but, on the other 
hand, great talent as a painter ; and yet it had been 
whispered to me that he, in his solitude, was the greatest 
of misanthropes. To judge of him by his conversation, 


The Improvisatore . 


355 


he was personified dissipation, and yet he was in reality 
propriety itself. According to his account of himself, 
Don Juan might have been his model, and yet, in fact, 
he combated, like the holy saint Antonius, against every 
temptation. A deep heart-sorrow was the ground of all 
this, it was whispered ; but what ? — whether his small 
worldly means or an unhappy love-affair ? No, nobody 
knew that rightly. He seemed to speak out everything, 
not to conceal the smallest thought ; his behavior 
seemed simple as that of a child, and yet nobody seemed 
rightly at all to understand him. All this had interested 
me, and this meeting with him now was very agreeable 
to me ; it dissipated the clouds from my soul. 

“ Such a blue, billowy plain,” said he, pointing to the 
sea, “ is not to be found in Rome ! The sea is the most 
beautiful thing on the earth ! It is, also, the mother 
of Venus, and,” added he, laughing, “ is the widow of 
all the mighty doges of Venice.” 

“ The Venetians must especially love the sea,” said I; 
“ regarding it as their grandmother, who carried them 
and played with them for the sake of her beautiful 
daughter Venetia.” 

“ She is no longer beautiful now, she bows her head,” 
replied he. 

“ But yet,” said I, “ she is still happy under the sway 
of ’the Emperor Francis.” 

“ It is a prouder thing to be queen upon the sea than a 
Caryatide upon land,” returned he. “ The Venetians 
have nothing to complain about, and politics are what I 
do not understand ; beauty, on the contrary ; and if you 
are a patron of it, as I do not doubt but you are, see, 
here comes my landlady’s handsome daughter, and 
inquires whether you will take part in my frugal 
dinner !” 

We went into the little house close by the shore. 


356 


The Improvisatore. 


The wine was good, and Poggio most charming and 
entertaining. No one could have believed that his 
heart secretly bled. 

We had sat here certainly a couple of hours, when my 
gondolier came to inquire whether I would not return, 
as there was every appearance of a storm coming on ; 
the sea was in great agitation, and between Lido and 
Venice the waves ran so high, that the light gondola 
might easily be upset. 

“ A storm !” exclaimed Poggio, “that is what I have 
wished for this many a time. You must not let that 
escape you,” said he to me ; “it will abate again towards 
evening, and, even if it do not, there is convenience 
here for us to pass the night, and comfortably to let it 
go over our heads, whilst the dash of the waves sings us 
to sleep.” 

“ I can at any time take a gondpla here from the 
island,” said I to the gondolier, and dismissed him. 

The storm beat violently on the window. We went 
into the open air. The descending sun illumined the 
dark-green agitated sea, the billows heaved themselves, 
crested with white foam, and sank down again. Far in 
the distance, where the clouds stood like cliffs torn by 
lightning, we perceived several boats — one moment 
they were in sight, and then gone again. The billows 
lifted themselves up and struck upon the shore, cover- 
ing us with their salt drops. The higher the waves 
flew, the louder Poggio laughed, clapped his hands, and 
shouted “ Bravo !” to the wild element. His example 
infected me, and my infirm heart felt itself better amid 
this excitement of nature. 

It soon became night. I ordered the hostess to bring 
us in the best wine, and we drank to the health of the 
storm and the sea, and Poggio sung the same song 
about love which I had heard in the ship. 


The Improvisatore . 


357 


“ Health to the Venetian ladies !” said I, and he rang 
his glass against mine to the beautiful Roman ones. 
Had a stranger seen us, he would have thought that we 
were two happy young friends. 

“The Roman women,” said Poggio, “pass for the 
handsomest. Tell me, now, honestly, your opinion.” 

“ I consider them as such,” said I. 

“ Well !” said Poggio, “ but the Queen of beauty lives 
in Venice ! You should see the niece of our.Podesta [ 
I know nothing more spiritually beautiful than she ; 
such as she is would Canova have represented the 
youngest of the Graces had he known Maria. I have 
only seen her at mass, and once in the Theatre of Saint 
Moses. There go all the young Venetians, like me, 
only they are in love with her to the death, I only adore 
her ; she is too spiritual for my fleshly nature. But 
one really must adore what is heavenly. Is it not so, 
Signore Abbe ?” 

I thought on Flaminia, and my momentarily kindled 
merriment was at an end. 

“You are become grave!” said he, “the wine is 
really excellent, and the waves sing and dance to our 
bacchanal !” 

“ Does the Podesta see much company ?” inquired I, 
that I might say something. 

“ Not often,” replied Poggio, “ what company he has 
is very select ! The beauty is shy as an antelope, fear- 
fully bashful, like no other woman that ever I knew ; 
but,” added he, with a jocular smile, “ it may be also a 
way of making herself interesting ! Heaven knows 
how the whole rightly hangs together ! You see, our 
Pedesta had two sisters, both of them were away from 
him a great many years ; the youngest was married in 
Greece, and is the mother of this beautiful girl, the 


358 


The Improvisator e. 


other sister is still unmarried, is an old maid, and she 
brought the beauty here about four years ago — ” 

A sudden darkness interrupted his speech ! it was as 
if the dark night had wrapped us in its mantle, and at 
the same moment the red lightning illumined all 
around. A thunder-clap followed, which reminded me 
of the eruptions of Vesuvius. 

Our heads bowed themselves, and involuntarily we 
made the sign of the cross. 

“ Jesus Maria !” said the hostess, entering our room, 

“ it is a fear and a horror to think of ! Four of our best 
fisherman are out to sea. Madonna keep her hand over 
them ! The poor Agnese sits with five children — that 
will be a misery !” 

We perceived, through the storm, the singing of a 
psalm. There stood upon the shore against which the 
billows broke in lofty surf a troop of women and chil- 
dren with the holy cross ; a young woman sat silently 
among them, with her glance riveted on the sea ; one 
little child lay on her breast, and another somewhat 
older, stood by her side, and laid its head on her lap. 

With the last fearful flash, the storm seemed to have 
removed itself to a greater distance ; the horizon became 
brighter, and more clearly shone the white foam upon 
the boiling sea. 

“ There they are !” exclaimed the woman, and sprang 
up and pointed to a black speck, which became more, 
and more distinct. 

“Madonna be merciful to them !” said an old fisher-, 
man, who, with his thick brown hood drawn over his 
head, stood with folded hands, and gazed on the dark 
object. At that same moment it vanished in a foaming' 
whirlpool. 

The old man had seen aright ; I heard the scream of 
the despairing little group ; it grew all the stronger as 


The Improvisator e % 


359 


the sea became calmer, the heavens clearer, and the cer- 
tainty greater. The children dropped the holy cross ; 
they let it fall in the sand, and clung, crying to their 
mothers. The old fisherman, however, raised it again, 
impressed a kiss upon the Redeemer’s feet, raised it on 
high, and named the holy name of the Madonna. 

Towards midnight the heavens were clear, the sea 
more tranquil, and the full moon cast her long beams 
over the calm bay between the Island of Venice. 
Poggio entered the gondola with me, and we left the 
unfortunates, whom we could neither assist nor com- 
fort. 

The next evening we met again at my banker’s, one 
of the richest in Venice. The company was very num- 
erous ; of the ladies I knew none, neither had I any 
interest about them. 

They began to speak in the room of the storm the 
evening before. Poggio took up the word, and told of 
the death of the fishermen, of the misfortune of the 
families, and gave it to be clearly understood how easily 
a great deal of their distress might be relieved ; how a 
small gift from every person present would amount to 
a sum which would be of the greatest benefit to the 
unfortunately bereaved families, but nobody seemed to 
understand him ; they deplored, shrugged their shoul- 
ders, and then began talking of something else ; 

Presently those who were possessed of any company- 
talent, produced it for public benefit, Poggio sang a 
merry barcarole ; but I seemed to see the while, in his 
polite smile, bitterness and coldness towards the dig- 
nified circle, which would not allow themselves to be 
guided by his noble eloquence. 

“ You do not sing ?” asked the lady of the house from 
me, when he had done. 


The Improvisatore. 


360 


“ I will have the honor to improvise before you,’’ said 
I, as a thought entered my mind. 

“ He is an improvisatore,” I heard whispered around 
me. The eyes of the ladies sparkled ; the gentlemen 
bowed. I took a guitar, and begged them to give me a 
subject. 

“Venice !” cried a lady, looking boldly into my eyes. 

“ Venice !” repeated the young gentlemen, “ because 
the ladies are handsome !” 

I touched a few chords ; described the pomp and 
glory of Venice in the days of her greatness, as I had 
read about it, and as my imagination had dreamed of 
its being, and all eyes flashed, they fancied that it was 
so now. I sang about the beauty in the balcony 
in the moonlight night, and every lady imagined 
I meant it for her, and clapped her hands in 
applause. Sgricci* himself could not have had more 
success. 

“ She is here,” whispered Poggio to me, “ the niece of 
the Podesta.” 

But we were prevented from saying more to each 
other. I was requested yet again to improvise ; a depu- 
tation of ladies and an old Excellenza presented the 
wishes of the company. I was willing, because it was 
my own wish ; I had anticipated it, and only desired 
that in some one of the given themes I might find occa- 
sion to describe the storm which I had seen ; the misery 
of the unfortunates, and by the might of song to con- 
quer where eloquence could not move. 

They gave me the Apotheosis of Titian. If he had 
only been a seaman, I would have brought him forwards 
as spokesman on the occasion, but in his praise I could 


* One of the celebrated improvisatori of our time . — Authors 
Note. 


The Improvisa tore. 


3 61 


not bring in the idea which I wished to develop. The 
subject was, nevertheless, a rich one ; my management 
of it exceeded expectation ;.I stood like the idol of the 
company, it was my own Apotheosis ! 

“No happiness can be greater than yours !” said the 
lady of the house ; “it must be an infinitely delightful 
feeling, that of possessing a talent like yours, that can 
transport and charm all those around you,*' 

“ It is a delightful feeling !” said I. 

“ Describe it in a beautiful poem I” said she, beseech- 
ingly ; “ it is so easy to you that one forgets how 
unreasonable one is in making so many demands upon 
you.” 

“ I know one sentiment,” returned I, and my design 
gave me boldness ; “ I know one emotion which is not 
exceeded by any other, which makes my heart a poet ; 
which awakes the same consciousness of happiness, and 
I consider myself to be so great a magician as to have 
the power of exciting it in every heart ; but this art has 
this peculiarity, that it cannot be given, it must be 
purchased.” 

“ We must become acquainted with it,” they all 
exclaimed. 

“ Here, upon this table,” said I ; “ I collect the sums — 
he who gives the most will be most deeply initiated 
therein.” 

“ I will give my gold chain,” said one lady, immedi- 
ately, laughing, and laid it in sport upon the table. 

“ I, all my card-money,” cried another, and smiled at 
my fancy. 

“ But it is a serious earnestness !” said I, “the pledges 
must not be reclaimed.” 

“ We will venture it,” said the many, who had already 
laid down gold, chains, and rings, still inwardly having 
doubts of my power. 


362 


The Im p rovisa tore. 


“ But if no emotion whatever takes hold of me,” said 
an officer, “ may I not then take back two ducats ?” 

“ Then are the wagers forfeited ?” cried Poggio. I 
bowed assentingly. 

All laughed, all waited for the result full of expecta- 
tion ; and I began to improvise. A holy flame 
penetrated me, I sang about the proud sea — the bride- 
groom of Venice ; about the sons of the sea — the bold 
mariners and fishermen in their little boats. I described 
a storm ; the wife’s and bride’s longing and anxiety ; 
described that which I myself had seen ; the children 
who had let fall the holy crucifix, and clung to their 
mothers, and the old fishermen who kissed the feet of 
the Redeemer. It was as if a God had spoken through 
me — as if I were the work-tool of His strong word. 

A deep silence prevailed through the room, and many 
an eye wept. 

I then conducted them into the huts of poverty, and 
took help and life through our little gift, and I sang 
how much more blessed it was to give than to receive ; 
sang of the delight which filled every heart that had 
contributed its mite ; it was a feeling which nothing 
could out- weigh ; it was the divine voice in every 
breast, which made them holier, and loftier, and devoted 
them to the poet ! And whilst I spoke, my voice 
increased in strength and fullness. 

I had won everything ; a tumultuous bravo saluted 
me ; and at the conclusion of my song I handed the rich 
gifts to Poggio, that thereby he might take help to the 
unfortunates. 

A young lady sank at my feet — a more beautiful 
triumph had my talent never obtained for me — seized 
my hand, and, with tears in her beautiful dark eyes, 
looked gratefully into my soul. This glance singularly 


The Improvisator e % 


3 6 3 


agitated me ; it was an expression of beauty which I 
seemed to have once beheld in a dream. 

“ The Mother of God reward you !” stammered she, 
whilst the blood crimsoned her cheek. She concealed 
her countenance, and withdrew from me, as if in horror 
at what she had done ; and who could have been so 
cruel as to have made a jest at the pure emotions of 
innocence ? Every one pressed around me ; they were 
inexhaustible in my praise. All talked about the 
unfortunates of Lido ; and I stood there as their bene- 
factor. 

“ It is more blessed to give than to receive !* This 
evening had taught me the truth of this. Poggio 
pressed me in his arms, 

“ Excellent man,” said he, “ I esteem and honor you! 
Beauty brings to you her homage ; she, who with a look 
can make thousands happy, bows herself before you 
in the dust I” 

‘ Who was she ?” inquired I, with a constrained voice. 

“ The most beautiful in Venice !” replied he. “ The 
niece of the Podesta !” 

That remarkable glance, that shape of beauty, stood 
livingly impressed in my soul ; inexplicable remem- 
brances awoke, and I also exclaimed, “ She was beauti- 
ful !” 

“You do not recognize me, then, signore?" said an 
old lady, who came up to me. “ It is a many years 
since I had the honor of making your acquaintance !” 
She smiled, offered me her hand, and thanked me for 
my improvisation. 

I bowed politely ; her features seemed familiar to me, 
but when and where I had seen her was not clear to 
me. I was obliged to say so. 

“Yes, that is natural !” said she ; “ we have only seen 
each other one single time. That was in Naples. My 


3 &4 


The Imftrovzsatore. 


brother was a physician. You visited him with a gen- 
tleman of the Borghese family.” 

“ I remember it 1” I exclaimed. “ Yes, now I recog- 
nize you ! Least of all did I expect that we should 
meet again here in Venice !” 

“ My brother,” said she, “ for whom I kept house, 
died about four years ago. Now I live with my elder 
brother. My servant shall take you our card. My niece 
is a child — a strange child ; she will go away — away 
instantly. I must attend her !” 

The old lady again gave me her hand, and left the 
room. 

“ Lucky fellow !” said Poggio, “ that was the Podesta’s 
sister ! You know her, have had an invitation from her. 
Half of Venice will envy you. Button your coat well 
about your heart when you go there, that you be not 
wounded like the rest of us, who approach in the 
slightest degree towards the enemy’s battery.” 

The beauty was gone. At the moment of emotion, 
transported by her feelings, she had fallen at my feet ; 
but at that moment had awoke her great bashfulness, 
and maidenly shame and anxiety, and horror at her own 
deed, had driven her away from the great circle, where 
she had drawn attention to herself ; and yet nothing was 
said but in her praise and admiration ! They united 
her praises with mine ! The queen of beauty had 
enchanted every one. Her heart, they said, was as 
noble as her form. 

The consciousness of having done a good work threw 
a ray of light into my soul ; I felt a noble pride ; felt 
my own happiness in being possessed of the gift of 
song. All the praise and love which surrounded me 
melted away all bitterness from my soul ; it seemed to 
me as if my spiritual strength had arisen purer and 
mightier from its swoon. I thought of Flaminia, and 


The Improvisatore. 


365 


thought of her without pain ; she would, indeed, have 
pressed my hand as a sister. Her words, that the poet 
ought only to sing of that which was holy and for the 
glorifying of God, cast a clear light into my soul. I 
felt again strength and courage, a mild tranquility 
diffused itself over my whole being ; and, for the first 
time after many, many months, I again felt happiness. 
It was a delightful evening. 

Poggio rung his glass against mine ; we concluded a 
friendship between us, and sealed it with a brotherly 
thou. 

It was late when I returned home, but I felt no want 
of sleep ; the moon shone so brightly upon the water in 
the canal, the atmosphere was so high and blue. With 
the pious faith of a child, I folded my hands and prayed, 
“ Father, forgive me my sins ! Give me strength to 
become a good and noble man, and thus may I still dare 
to remember Flaminia, to think upon my sister ; 
strengthen, also, her soul, let her never imagine of my 
suffering ! Be good to us, and merciful, Eternal God !” 

And now my heart was wondrously light ; the empty 
canals of Venice and the old palaces seemed tome beau- 
tiful — a sleeping fairy world. 

The next morning I was as cheerful as ever, a noble 
pride had awoke in my breast. I was happy because of 
my spritual gifts, and thankful to God. I took a gon- 
dola to go and make my visit at the house of the 
Podesta, whose sister I knew ; to speak candidly, I had 
also a desire to see the young lady who had paid such 
living homage to me, and who passed for the queen of 
beauty. 

“ Palazzo d’Othello !” said the gondolier, and led me 
through the great canal to an old building, relating to 
me the whole of the Moor of Venice, who killed his 
beautiful wife Desdemona, who had lived there ; and 


3 66 


The Improvisci tore. 


that all the English went to visit this house, as if it were 
St. Mark’s Church, or the arsenal. 

They all received me as if I had been a beloved rela- 
tion. Rosa, the Podesta’s old sister, talked of her dear 
deceased brother ; of lively, merry Naples, which she 
had not now seen for these four years. 

“ Yes,” said she, “ Maria longs for it, also ; and we 
will set off when they least think of it. I must see Vesu- 
vius and the beautiful Capri yet once more before I 
die !” 

Maria entered and offered me her hand, with a sis- 
terly, and yet singularly bashful manner. She was 
beautiful, indeed, I thought more beautiful than when 
last evening she had bent herself before me. Poggio 
was right, so must the youngest of the Graces appear ; 
no female form could have been more exquisitely 
formed — Lara, perhaps ? Yes, Lara, the blind girl in 
her poor garments, with the little bouquet of violets in 
her hair, was as beautiful as Maria in her splendid dress. 
Her closed eyes had appealed to my heart more touch- 
ingly than the singularly dark glance of fire in Maria’s 
eyes ; every feature, however, had a pensive expression 
like Lara’s ; but then, in the open dark eye, was peace 
and joy, which Lara had never known. There was, 
nevertheless, so much resemblance as to bring the blind 
girl to my mind, whom she never had seen, nay, even 
that strange reverential feeling, as if to some superior 
being, again into my heart. 

My powers of mind exhibited greater flexibility, my 
eloquence became richer. I felt that I pleased every 
one of them ; and Maria seemed to bestow upon my tal- 
ents as much admiration as her beauty won from me. 

I looked upon her as a lover looks upon a beautiful 
female figure, the perfect image of his beloved. In 


The Improvisatore. 


367 


Maria, I found all Lara’s beauty almost as in a mirror, 
and Flaminia’s entire sisterly spirit ; one could not but 
have confidence in her. It was to me as if we had 
known one another for a long time. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE SINGER. 

A great event in my life lies so near to me here that 
it almost dislodges all others from my mind, as the lofty 
pine tree of the wood draws away the eye from the low 
undergrowth ; I therefore only passingly describe that 
which lies in the middle ground. 

I was often at the house of the Podesta — I was, they 
said, its enlivening genius. Rosa talked to me about 
her beloved Naples, and I read aloud to her and her 
niece the “ Divina CommediaP Alfieri and Miolini, and I 
was captivated with Maria’s mind and feeling as much 
as with the works of the poets themselves. Out of this 
house Poggio was my dearest associate ; they knew it, 
and he, too, was invited by the Podesta. He thanked 
me for this, and declared that it was my merits and not 
his, and our friendship, which had introduced him 
there, for which he was the envy of the whole youth of 
Venice. 

Everywhere was my talent as an improvisatore 
admired, nay, it was so highly esteemed that no circle 
would allow me to escape before I had gratified their 
wish by giving them a proof of my power. The first 
artists extended to me their hands as brothers, and 
encouraged me to come forward in public. And I half 
did so before the members of the Academia del Arte one 


3 68 


The Improvisatore. 


afternoon, by improvising on Dandola’s procession to 
Constantinople, and upon the bronze horses on the church 
of St. Mark, for which I was honored with a diploma, and 
received into their society. 

But a much greater pleasure awaited me in the house 
of the Podesta. One day Maria presented to me a little 
casket containing a beautiful necklace of lovely, bright- 
colored mussel-shells, exceedingly small, delicate, and 
lovely, strung upon a silken thread ; it was a present 
from the unfortunates of Lido, whose benefactor I was 
called. 

“ It is very beautiful,” said Maria. 

“ That you must preserve for your bride,” said Rosa ; 
“ it is a lovely gift for her, and with that intention has it 
been given.” 

“ My bride,” repeated I, gravely, “ I have not one — 
really have not one.” 

“ But she will come,” said Rosa ; “ you will have a 
bride, and certainly the most beautiful.” 

“ Never !” repeated I, and looked on the ground, in 
the deep sense of how much I had lost. 

Maria also became silent with my dejection ; she had 
pleased herself so much in the idea of astonishing me 
by the gift, and had received it from Poggio, to whom it 
had been given, for that purpose ; and I now stood 
embarrassed, concealing my embarrassment so badly, 
and holding the necklace in my hand. I would so 
gladly have given it to Maria, but Rosa’s words stag- 
gered my determination. Maria certainly divined my 
thoughts, for, as I fixed my eye upon her, a deep crim- 
son flushed her countenance. 

“ You come very seldom to us,” said my rich banker’s 
wife one day as I paid her a visit — “ very seldom come 
here, but to the Podesta’s ! yes, that is more amusing ! 


The Improvisators. 


369 


Maria is, indeed, the first beauty in Venice, and you are 
the first improvisatore. It will thus be a very good 
match ; the girl will have a magnificent estate in Cala- 
bria— it is her own heritage, or has been bought for that. 
Be bold, and it will succeed. You will be the envy of 
all Venice.” 

“ How can you think,” returned I, “ that such a con- 
ceited thought should enter my mind? I am as far 
from being a lover of Maria’s as anybody else can be. 
Her beauty charms me, as all beauty does, but that is 
not love ; and that she has fortune does not operate with 
me.” 

“ Ah, well, well ! we shall see for all that !” said the 
lady ; “ love gets on best in life when it stands well in 
the kitchen — when there is enough to fill the pot. It is 
out of this that people must live !” 

And with this she laughed and gave me her hand. 

It provoked me that people should think I should talk 
in this way. I determined to go less frequently to the 
house of the Podesta, spite of their all being so dear to 
me. I had thought of spending this evening with them, 
but I now altered my determination. My blood was in 
agitation. Nay, thought I, wherefore vex myself ? I 
will be cheerful. Life is beautiful if people will only 
let it be so ; free I am, and nobody shall influence me ! 
Have I not strength and will of my own ? 

In the dusk of the evening I took a ramble alone 
through the narrow streets, where the houses met one 
another, where, therefore, the little rooms were brightly 
lighted up, and the people thronged together. The 
lights shone in long rays upon the Great Canal, the gon- 
dolas flew rapidly along under the single lofty arch 
which sustained the bridge. I heard the voice singing ; 
it was that ballad about kissing and love, and, like the 


370 


The Improvisa tore. 


serpent around the tree of knowledge, I knew the beau- 
tiful face of Sin. 

I went onward through the narrow streets and came 
to a house more lighted up than any of the others, into 
which a crowd of people were going. It was one of the 
minor theatres of Venice, Saint Lucas’, I believe it was 
called. A little company gave the same opera there 
twice in the day, as in the Theatro Fenize in Naples. 
The first representation of the piece begins about four 
o’clock in the afternoon and ends at six, and the second 
begins at eight. The price was very low, but nobody 
must expect to see anything extraordinary; yet the 
desire which the lower classes here have to hear music, 
and the curiosity of strangers, cause them often to be 
very good houses, and that even twice in the evening. 

“ I now read in the play-bill, “ Donna Caritea , regina de 
Spagna, the music by Marcadante — ” 

“ I can come out again if I get weary of it,” said I to 
myself ; “ and, at all events, I can go in and look at the 
pretty women.” I was in the humor for the thing, and 
resolved to enjoy myself. 

I went in, received a dirty little ticket, and was con- 
ducted to a box near the stage. There were two rows 
of boxes, one above the other ; the places for the 
spectators were right spacious, but the stage itself 
seemed to me like a tray, several people could not have 
turned themselves round upon it, and yet there was 
going to be exhibited an equestrian opera, with a tour- 
nament and a procession. The boxes were internally 
dirty and defaced, the ceiling seemed to press the whole 
together. A man in his shirt-sleeves came forward to 
light the lamps ; the people talked aloud in the pit ; 
the musicians came into the orchestra — they could only 
raise a quartette. 

Everything showed what the whole might be expected 


The Improvisator e. 


3/i 


to be, yet still I resolved to wait out the first act. I 
noticed the ladies around me — none of them pleased 
me. A young 1 man now entered the box next to mine ; 
I had met him in company. He smiled and offered me 
his hand, saying : 

“ Who would have thought of meeting you here ? 
But,” whispered he, “ one can often make very pleasant 
acquaintance here ; in the pale moonlight people easily 
get acquainted.” 

He kept talking on and was hissed, because the over- 
ture had begun ; it sounded very deplorable, and the 
curtain rolled up. The whole corps consisted of two 
ladies and three gentlemen, who looked as if they had 
been fetched in from field labor, and bedizened in 
knightly apparel. 

“ Yes,” said my neighbor, “ the solo parts are often 
not badly cast. Here is a comic actor who might fig- 
ure in any first-rate theatre. Ah, thou good God !” 
exclaimed he to himself, as the queen of the piece 
entered with two ladies ; “ are we to have her to-night ? 
Yes, then, I would not give a half-zwanziger for the 
whole thing. Jeanette was much better !” 

It was a slight, ordinary figure, with a thin, sharp 
countenance, and deeply-sunken dark eyes, who now 
came forward. Her miserable dress hung loosely about 
her ; it was poverty which came forward as the queen ; 
and yet it was with a grace which amazed me, and 
which accorded so little with the rest — a grace which 
would excellently have become a young and beautiful 
girl. She advanced towards the lamps — my heart beat 
violently, I scarcely dared to inquire her name ; I 
believed that my eyes deceived me. 

“ What is she called ?” at length I asked. 

“ Annunciata,” replied my neighbor ; “ sing she can- 
not, and that one may see by that little skeleton !” 


372 


The Improvisator e. 


Every word fell upon my heart like corrosive poison ; 
I sat as if nailed fast ; my eyes were fixed immovably 
upon her. 

She sang ; no, it was not Annunciata’s voice, it 
sounded feeble, inharmonious, and uncertain. 

“There are certainly traces of a good school,” said 
my neighbor ; “ but there is not power for it.” 

“She does not resemble,” said I, tremulously, “a 
namesake of hers, Annunciata, a young Spaniard, who 
once made a great figure in Naples and Rome !” 

“ Ah, yes,” answered he ; “ it is she herself ! seven or 
eight years ago she sat on the high horse. Then she 
was young, and had a voice like a Malibran , but now 
all the gilding is gone ; that is, in reality, the lot of all 
such talents ! For a few years they shine in their 
meridian glory, and, dazzled by -admiration, they never 
think that they may decline, and thus rationally retire 
whilst glory is beaming around them. The public first 
find out the change, and that is the melancholy part of 
it ; and then, commonly, these good ladies live too 
expensively, and all their gains are squandered, and 
then it goes down-hill at a gallop ! You have then seen 
her in Rome, have you ?” asked he. 

“ Yes,” replied I, “ several times.” 

“ It must be a horrible change ! most to be deplored, 
however, for her,” said he ; “ she is said to have lost her 
voice in a long, severe sickness, which must be some 
four or five years since ; but with that the public has 
nothing to do. Will you not clap for old acquaintance 
sake ? I will help ; it will please the old lady !” 

He clapped loudly ; some in the parterre followed 
his example, but then succeeded a loud hissing, amid 
which the queen proudly went off the scene. It was 
Annunciata ! 

“ Fuimus Troes /” whispered my neighbor. Now came 


The Improvisator e. 


373 


forward the heroine of the piece ; she was a very pretty 
young girl, of a luxuriant form, and with a burning 
glance ; she was received with acclamations and the 
clapping of hands. All the old recollections rushed 
into my soul ; the transports of the Roman people and 
their jubilations over Annunciata ; her triumphal pro- 
cession, and my strong love ! Bernardo, then, had also 
forsaken her ; or, had she not loved him ? I saw really 
how she bent her head down to him and pressed her 
lips upon his brow. He had forsaken her — forsaken 
her ! then she had become ill, and her beauty had van- 
ished ; it was that alone which he had loved ? 

She again came forward in another scene ; how 
suffering she looked, and how old ! It was a painted 
corpse, which terrified me. I was embittered against 
Bernardo, who could forsake her for the loss of her 
beauty, and yet it was that which had wounded me so 
deeply ; the beauty of Annunciata’s soul must have 
been the same as before. 

“ Are you not well ?” inquired the stranger from me, 
for I looked deadly pale. 

“ It is here so oppressively warm,” said I, rising ; left 
the box, and went out into the fresh air. I hastened 
through the narrow streets ; a thousand emotions 
agitated my breast ; I knew not where to go. I stood 
again outside the theatre, where a fellow was just tak- 
ing down the placard to put up the one for the next day. 

“ Where does Annunciata live ?” whispered I in his 
ear ; he turned himself round, looked at me, and 
repeated, “ Annunciata ? Signore means, no doubt, 
Aurelia ? she who acted the part of the man within ? I 
will show you her house ; but she is not yet at liberty.” 

“No, no,” replied I; “Annunciata; she who sang 
the part of the queen.” 

The fellow measured me w T ith his eye. 


374 


The Improvisator e. 


“The little thin woman?” asked he; “yes, she, I 
fancy, is not accustomed to visitors, but there may be 
good reasons. I will show the gentleman the house ; 
you will give me something for my trouble ! but you 
cannot see her yet for an hour ; the opera will detain 
her as long as that.” 

“ Wait, then, here for me,” said I ; entered a gondola, 
and bade the man row me about whither he would. 
My soul was inwardly troubled ; I must yet once more 
see Annunciata — talk to her — she was unhappy ! but 
what could I do for her ? Anguish and sorrow drove 
me on. 

An hour was scarcely gone when the gondola again 
lay with me before the theatre ; where I found the 
fellow waiting for me. 

He led me through narrow, dirty lanes, to an old 
desolate house, in the uppermost garret of which a light 
was burning ; he pointed up. 

“ Does she live there ?” I exclaimed. 

“ I will lead Excellenza in,” said he, and pulled at the 
bell-cord. 

“ Who is there ?” inquired a female voice. 

“ Marco Lugano !” replied he, and the door opened. 

It was a dark night within ; the little lamp before the 
image of the Madonna was gone out, the glimmering 
wick alone shone like a point of blood ; I kept close to 
him. A door far above was opened and we saw a ray 
of light shine down towards us. 

“ Now she comes herself,” said the man. 

I slipped a few pieces of money into his hand ; he 
thanked me a thousand times, and hastened down, 
whilst I ascended the last steps. 

“Are there any new changes for to-morrow, Marco 
Lugano ?” I heard the voice inquire ; it was Annunciata ; 
she stood at the door ; a little silken net was bound 


The Ini provisa to re. 


375 


round her hair, and a large wrapping dress was thrown 
loosely about her. 

“ Do not fall, Marco,” said she, and went before into 
room, whilst I followed her. 

“ Who are you ? What do you want here ?” exclaimed 
she, terrified, as she saw me enter. 

“Jesus Maria!” cried she, and passed her hand 
before her face. 

“ A friend !” stammered I ; “an old acquaintance, to 
whom you once occasioned much joy, much happiness, 
seeks you out, and ventures to offer you his hand !” 

She took her hands from her face, pale as death, and 
stood like a corpse ; and the dark, intellectual eyes 
glowing wildly. Older Annunciata had become, and 
bore the marks of .suffering; but there were still 
remains of that wonderful beauty, that same soul-beam- 
ing but melancholy look. 

“ Antonio !” said she, and I saw a tear in her eye ; 
“ is it thus we meet ? Leave me ! our paths lie so wide 
apart — yours upwards to happiness, mine down — to 
happiness also,” sighed she deeply. 

“ Drive me not from you !” exclaimed I ; “ as a friend 
— a brother I am come ; my heart impelled me to it ! 
You are unhappy, you to whom thousands acclaimed 
gladness, who made thousands happy !” 

“ The wheel of fortune turns round,” said she. 
“ Fortune follows youth and beauty, and the world 
harnesses itself to their triumphal car ; intellect and 
heart are the worst dower of nature ; they are forgotten 
for youth and beauty, and the world is always right !” 

“ You have been ill, Annunciata !” said I ; and my lips 
trembled. 

“ 111 — very ill, for almost a year ; but it was not the 
death of me,” said she, with a bitter smile ; “ youth died, 
however ; my voice died, and the public became dumb 


376 


The Improvisatore . 


at the sight of these two corpses in one body ! The 
physician said that they were only apparently dead, and 
the body believed so. But the body required clothing 
and food, and two long years gave all its wealth to 
purchase these, then it must paint itself, and come 
forward as if the dead were still living, but it came 
forward as a ghost, and that people might not be 
frightened at it, it showed itself again in a little theater 
where few lamps were burning, and it was half dark. 
But, even there they observed that youth and voice 
were dead, were buried corpses. Annunciata is dead, 
there hangs her living image !” and she pointed to the 
wall. 

In that miserable chamber hung a picture, a half- 
length picture, in a rich gilded frame, which made a 
strange contrast to the other poverty around. It was 
the picture of Annunciata, painted as Dido. It was her 
image as it stood in my soul ; the intellectually beauti- 
ful countenance, with pride on the brow. I looked round 
upon the actual Annunciata ; she held her hands before 
her face and wept. 

“Leave me, — forget my existence, as the world has 
forgotten it !” besought she, and motioned with her 
hands. 

“ I cannot,” said I — “ cannot thus leave you ! Madonna 
is good and merciful ; Madonna will help us all !” 

“ Antonio,” said she, solemnly, “ can you make a jest 
of me in my misfortune? No, that you cannot, like all 
the rest of the world. But I do not comprehend you. 
When all the world acclaimed my praise, and lavished 
flattery and adoration upon me, you forsook me, forsook 
me so entirely ; and now, when my glory, which had 
captivated the world is gone, when everybody regards 
me as a foreign, indifferent object, you come to me, 
seek me out !” 


The Improvisatore. 


377 


‘‘You yourself drove me from you!” exclaimed I; 
“ drove me out into the world ! My fate, my circum- 
stances,” added I, in a milder tone, “ drove me out into 
the world !” 

She became silent ; but her eye was riveted with a 
strangely searching expression upon me. She seemed 
as if she wished to speak ; the lips moved, but she spoke 
not. A deep sigh ascended from her breast ; she cast 
her eyes upwards, and again sunk them to the floor. 
Her hand was passed over her forehead ; it was as if a 
thought went through her soul, known only to God and 
herself. 

“ I have seen you again !” exclaimed she at length ; 
“ seen you yet once more in this world ! I feel that you 
are a good, a noble man. May you be happier than I 
have been ! The swan has sung its last ! Beauty has 
gone out of flower ! I am quite alone in this world ! 
Of the happy Annunciata there remains only the pic- 
ture on the wall ! I have now one prayer,” said she, 
“ one prayer, which you will not refuse me ! Annun- 
ciata, who once [delighted you, beseeches you to grant 
it !” 

“ All, all, I promise !” exclaimed I, and pressed her 
hand to my lips. 

“ Regard it as a dream,” said she, “ that you have seen 
me this evening ! If we meet again in the world, we do 
not know each other ! Now we part !” She offered 
me, with these words, her hand, and added, “ In a better 
world we shall meet again ! Here our paths separate. 
Farewell, Antonio, farewell !” 

I sank down, overcome for sorrow, before her. I 
knew nothing more ; she directed me like a child, and I 
wept like one. 

“ I come ! I come again !” said I, and left her. 

“ Farewell !” I heard her say ; but I saw her no more. 


378 


The Improvisatore . 


All was dark below and in the street. 

“ God, how miserable may Thy creatures be !” 
exclaimed I in my anguish, and wept. No sleep visited 
my eyes ; it was a night of sorrow. 

Amid a thousand plans which I devised, and then- 
again rejected, I went to her house on the day but one 
following. I felt my poverty ; I was only a poor lad, 
that had been taken from the Campagna. My greater 
freedom of mind had exactly laid me in the fetters of 
dependence ; but my talents seemed really to open to 
me a brilliant path. Could it be a more brilliant one 
than Annunciata’s ; and how was this ended ? The 
rushing river which had gleamed forth in cascades and 
amid rainbows, had ended in the Pontine Marsh of 
misery. 

Yet once more I felt impelled to see Annunciata, and 
to talk with her. It was the second day after our meet- 
ing that I again mounted up the narrow, dark stairs. 
The door was closed ; I knocked on it, and an old 
woman opened a side-door, and asked if I wished to see 
the room, which was vacant. “ But it is quite too little 
for you,” said she. 

“ But the singer ?” inquired I. 

“ She has flitted,” answered the old woman ; “ flitted 
all away yesterday morning. Has set off on a journey, 
I fancy ; it was done in a mighty hurry.” 

“ Do not you know where she is gone ?” I asked. 

“ No,” returned she ; “ she did not say a word about 
that. But they are gone to Padua, or Trieste, or Fer- 
rara, or some such place, as, indeed, there are so many.” 
And with this she opened the door, that I might see 
the empty room. 

I went to the theatre. The company • had yesterday 
given their last representation ; it was now closed. 

She was gone, the unfortunate Annunciata ! A bit- 


The Improvisatore . 


379 


ter feeling took possession of my mind. Bernardo, 
thought I, is, after all, the cause of her misfortune, of 
the whole direction which my life has taken. Had it 
not been for him she would have loved me ; and her 
love would have given to my mind a great strength 
and development. Had I at once followed her, and 
come forward as improvisatore, my triumph, perhaps, 
would have united itself to hers ; all might have been 
so different then ! Care would not then have furrowed 
her brow ! 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

POGGIO ANNUNCIATA MARIA. 

Poggio visited me, and inquired the reason of my 
depression of mind ; but I could not tell him the cause ; 
I could tell it to no one. 

i% Thou lookest really,” said he, “ as if the bad sirocco 
blew upon thee ! Is it from the heart that this hot air 
comes ? The little bird within there may be burned ; 
and, as it is no phoenix, it may not be benefited there- 
by. It must now and then have a flight out, pick the 
red berries in the field, and the fine roses in the 
balcony, to get itself right. My little bird does so, and 
finds itself all the better for it ; has excellent spirits, 
sings merrily into my blood and my whole being. And 
it is that which gives me the good-humor that I have ! 
Thou must do the same also, and shalt do so ! A poet 
must have a sound, healthy bird in his breast — a bird 
which knows both roses and berries, the sour and tho 
sweet, the cloudy heavens and the clear ether !” 

“ That is a beautiful idea about a poet,” said L 


380 


The Improvisator e. 


“ Christ became a man like the rest of us,” said he, 
“ and descended even down into hell to the damned ! 
The divine must unite itself to the earthly, and 
there will be produced therefrom a mighty result of — 
But it is really a magnificent lecture which I am begin- 
ning. I ought, sure enough, to give one ; I have prom- 
ised to do so ; but I fancy it was on another subject. 
What is the meaning of it, when a gentleman all at 
once forsakes his friends ? for three whole days 
has never been to the Podesta’s house? That is 
abominable, very abominable of him. The family is 
also very angry. This very day thou must go there, 
and, kneeling, like another Frederick Barbarossa, hold 
the stirrup. Not to have been for three days at Podes- 
ta’s house ! 1 heard that from Signora Rosa. What 

hast thou been doing with thyself ?” 

“ I have not felt well ; have not been out.” 

“ No, dear friend,” interrupted he, “ one knows better 
than that ! The evening before last thou wentest to 
the Opera La Regina di Spagna, in which the little 
Aurelia appears as a knight — that is, a little Orlando 
Furioso ! But the conquest need not bring gray hairs 
to anybody ; it cannot be so difficult. However, be 
that as it may, thou goest with me to dine at the 
Podesta’s. There are we invited, and I have given my 
hand to take thee with me.” 

“ Poggio,” said I, gravely, “ I will tell thee the rea- 
sons why I have not been there ; why I shall not go 
there so frequently.” 

I then told him what the banker’s wife had whispered 
to me ; how Venice talked about its being my design to 
obtain the beautiful Maria, who had a fortune and an 
estate in Calabria. 

“ Nay,” cried Poggia, “ I would be very glad indeed if 
they would say that of me ; and so thou wilt not go for 


The Improvisatore . 


38i 


that reason ! Yes, truly, people do say so, and I 
believe it myself, because it is so natural. But whether 
we are right or wrong, that is no reason why thou 
shouldest be uncivil to the family. Maria is handsome, 
very handsome, has understanding and feeling, and 
thou lovest her, too, that I have seen all along plainly 
enough.” 

“ No, no !” exclaimed I, “ my thoughts are a very long 
way from love ! Maria resembles a blind child whom I 
once saw, a child which wonderfully attracted me, as a 
child only could. That resemblance has often agitated 
me in Maria, and has riveted my eye upon her.” 

“ Maria also was once blind !” said Poggio, in a some- 
what serious tone ; “ she was blind when she came from 
Greece ; her uncle, the physician in Naples, performed 
an operation on her eyes which restored her sight.” 

“ My blind child was not Maria,” said I. 

“ Thy blind child,” repeated Poggio, merrily ; “ it 
must be a very wonderful person, however, that blind 
child of thine, which could set thee a staring at Maria, 
and finding out a likeness. Yes, that is only speaking 
figuratively ; it is the little blind Love with whom, 
once upon a time, thou madest acquaintance, and she 
has made thee look at Maria. Now confess it thyself ; 
before we ourselves are aware of it, will the nuptials be 
announced, and you drive off from Venice.” 

“ No, Poggio,” I exclaimed, “ you affront me by talk- 
ing in this way ; I shall never marry. My love’s dream 
is over. I never think of such a thing — never can. By 
the eternal heavens and all the saints, I neither will nor 
can.” 

“ Silence ! silence !” cried Poggio, interrupting me, 
“ let’s have no oath about it. I will believe thee, and 
will contradict everybody that says thou art in love 
with Maria, and that you are going to be married. But 


382 


The Improvised ore. 


don’t go and swear that you never will marry ; perhaps 
the bridal is nearer than you imagine ; even within this 
very year it is quite possible.” 

“ Thine, perhaps,” replied I, “ but mine never !” 

“ Nay ; so thou thinkest, then, that I can get married !” 
exclaimed Poggio ; “ no, dear friend, I have no means 
of keeping a wife ; the pleasure would be much too 
expensive for me.” 

“ Thy marriage will take place before mine,” replied 
I ; “ perhaps even the handsome Maria may be thine, 
and whilst Venice is saying it is to me that she will give 
her hand, it is to thee.” 

“ That would be badly done,” replied he, and laughed ; 
“ no, I have given her a far better husband than myself. 
Shall we lay a wager,” continued he, “ that thou wilt be 
married, either to Maria or some other lady ; that thou 
wilt be a husband, and I an old bachelor ? Two bottles 
of champagne we will bet, which we will drink on thy 
wedding-day.” 

“ I dare do that,” said I, and smiled. 

I was obliged to go with him to the Podesta’s. Sig- 
nora Rosa scolded me, and so did the Podesta. Maria 
was silent ; my eye rested upon her ; Venice said, 
actually, that she was my bride ! Rosa and I touched 
glasses. 

“ No lady may drink the health of the improvisatore,” 
said Poggio ; “ he has sworn eternal hatred against the 
fair sex ; he never will be married !” 

“ Eternal hatred !” returned I ; “ and what if I do not 
marry, cannot I honor and value still that which is 
beautiful in woman, that which more than anything else 
elevates and softens every relation of life ?” 

“ Not be married !” cried the Podesta ; “ that were 
the most miserable thought which your genius ever gave 


The Improvisator e . 


383 


birth to ; nor either is it handsome behavior in a friend,” 
said he, jestingly, turning to Poggio, “ to reveal it.” 

“ Only to make him ashamed of it !” returned Poggio ; 
“he might otherwise so easily get enamored of this, 
his only bad thought, and because it is so remarkably 
brilliant, might mistake it for an original one, and 
regularly attach himself to it !” 

They jested with me, made fun of me ; I could not be 
other than cheerful. Exquisite dishes and glorious wines 
were set before me. I thought upon Annunciata’s 
poverty, and that, perhaps, she was now famishing. 

“ You promised to send us Silvio Pellico’s works,” 
said Rosa, when we separated. “ Do not forget it, and 
come, like a good creature, every day to us ; you have 
accustomed us to it, and nobody in Venice can be more 
grateful than we are.” 

I went — I went right often ; for I felt how much they 
loved me. 

About a month had now passed since my last conver- 
sation with Poggio, and I had not been able to speak 
about Annunciata ; I was, therefore, obliged to trust to 
chance, which often knits up the broken thread. 

One evening as I was at the Podesta’s, Maria seemed 
to be singularly thoughtful, a vivid suffering seemed 
impressed upon her whole being. I bad been reading 
to her and her aunt, and even during this her mind 
seemed abstracted. Rosa left the room ; never had I 
until now been alone with Maria ; a strange, inexplic- 
able presentiment, as if of approaching evil, filled my 
breast. I endeavored to begin a conversation about 
Silvio Pellico, about the influence of political life upon 
the poetical mind. 

“ Signore Abbe,” said she, without appearing to have 
heard a word of my remarks, for her whole thoughts 
seemed to have been directed to one only subject. 


3§4 


The Improvisator e. 


“ Antonio,” continued she with a tremulous voice, whilst 
the blood mantled in her cheeks, “ I must speak with 
you. A dying person has made me give her my hand 
that I would do so.” She paused, and I stood silent, 
strangely agitated at her words. 

“We are actually not so very much of strangers to 
each other,” said she, “ and yet this moment is very ter- 
rible to me ;” and as she spoke, she became pale as 
death. 

“ God in heaven !” exclaimed I, “ what has hap- 
pened ?” 

“ God’s wonderful guidance,” said she, “ has drawn 
me into your life’s circumstances, has made me par- 
ticipate in a secret, in a connection which no stranger 
ought to know ; but my lips are silent ; what I have 
promised to the dead I have not told, not even to my 
aunt.” 

With this she drew forth a little packet and giving it 
to me, continued, “ This is destined for you, it will tell 
you everything ; I have promised to deliver it into your 
hands ; I have had it in my possession for two whole 
days ; I knew not how I should be able to fulfil my 
promise, — I have now done it. Be silent, as I shall be.” 

“ From whom does it come ?” inquired I ; “ may I not 
know that ?” 

“ Eternal God !” said she, and left the room. 

I hastened home, and opened the little packet. It 
contained many loose papers ; the first I saw was in my 
own handwriting, a little verse written in pencil ; but 
underneath it were marked in ink three black crosses, 
as if they were the writing on a grave. It was the poem 
which I had thrown to Annunciata’s feet the first time 
I saw her. 

“ Annunciata !” sighed I deeply, “ Eternal Mother of 
God ! it comes then from her !” 


The Improvised ore. 


385 


Among- the papers lay a sealed note, upon which was 
inscribed, “ To Antonio.” I tore it open ; yes, it was 
from her. Half of it I saw was written during the 
night of the evening when I had seen her ; the latter 
part appeared fresher ; it was extremely faint, and writ- 
ten with a trembling hand. I read : 

“ I have seen thee, Antonio ! seen thee once more. It 
was my only wish, and I dreaded it for a moment, even 
as one dreads death, which, however, brings happiness. 
It is only an hour since I saw thee. When thou readest 
this it may be months — not longer. It is said that 
those who see themselves will shortly die. Thou art 
the half of my soul — thou wast my thought — thee have 
I seen ! Thou hast seen me in my happiness, in my 
misery ! Thou wast the only one who now would know 
the poor forsaken Annunciata ! But I also deserved it. 

“ I dare now speak thus to thee because when thou 
readest this I shall be no more. I loved thee — loved 
thee from the days of my prosperity to my last moment, 
Madonna willed not that we should be united in this 
world, and she divided us. 

“ I knew thy love for me before that unfortunate eve- 
ning when the shot struck Bernardo, on which thou 
declared it. My pain at the misfortune which separated 
us, the great grief which crushed my heart, bound my 
tongue. I concealed my face on the body of he whom I 
believed to be dead, and thou wast gone — I saw thee no 
more ! 

“ Bernardo was not mortally wounded, and I left him 
not before this was ascertained of a truth. Did this 
awaken doubt in your soul of my love for you ? I knew 
not where you were, nor could I learn. A few days 
afterwards a singular old woman came to me, and present- 
ed to me a note, in which you had written, ‘ I journey to 
Naples !’ and to which your name was signed. She said 


3 86 


The Improviscitore . 


that you must have a passport and money. I influenced 
Bernardo to obtain this from his uncle, the senator. At 
that time my wish was a command, my word had 
power. I had obtained that which I desired. Bernardo 
was also troubled about you. 

“He became perfectly well again, and he loved me, I 
believe really that he honestly loved me ; but you alone 
occupied all my thoughts. He left Rome, and I, too, 
was obliged to go to Naples ; my old friend’s illness 
compelled me to remain for a month at Mola di Gaeta. 
When at last we arrived at Naples, I heard of a young 
improvisatore, Cenci, who had made his debut on the 
very evening of my arrival. I had a presentiment that it 
was you — I obtained certainty thereof. My old friend 
wrote immediately to you, without giving our name, 
though she mentioned our residence. But you came 
not ; she wrote again, without the name, it is true, but 
you must have known from whom it was sent. She wrote 
‘ Come, Antonio, the terror of the last unfortunate 
moment in which we were together is now well over ! 
Come quickly ! regard that as a misunderstanding — all 
can be made right — only do not delay to come/ 

“ But you came not. I ascertained that you had read 
the letter, and that you had immediately set off back to 
Rome. What could I believe ? that your love was all 
over. I, too, was proud, Antonio ! the world had made 
my soul vain. I did not forget you — I gave you up, 
and suffered severely in so doing. 

“ My old friend died, her brother followed after her ; 
they had been as parents to me. I stood quite alone in 
the world, but I was still its favorite ; was young and 
beautiful, and brilliant in my powers of song. That 
was the last year of my life. 

“ I fell sick on the journey to Bologna, very sick — my 
heart suffered. Antonio, I knew not that you thought 


The Improvisa to re. 


3^7 


still affectionately on me, that yon, at a time when the 
happiness of the world deserted me, would press a kiss 
upon my hand. I lay sick for a year, the property 
which I had accumulated in the two years in which I 
was a singer melted away ; I was poor, and doubly 
poor, for my voice was gone, sickness had enfeebled me. 
Years went on, almost seven years, and then we met — 
you have seen my poverty ! You certainly heard how 
they hissed off the Annunciata who once was drawn in 
triumph through the streets of Rome. Bitter as my 
fate had my thoughts also become ! 

“ You came to me — like scales, all fell away from my 
eyes, I felt that you had sincerely loved me. You said 
to me that it was I who had driven you out into the 
world, — you knew not how I had loved you, had 
stretched, as it were, my arms after you ! ^But I have 
seen you — your lips have glowed upon my hand as in 
former better times ! We are separated — I sit again 
alone in the little chamber ; to-morrow I must leave it — 
perhaps Venice ! Be not anxious about me, Antonio, 
Madonna is good and merciful ! Think honestly of me, 
it is the dead which beseeches this from you — Annun- 
ciata, who has loved you, and prays now and — in heaven 
for you !” 

My tears streamed as I read this, it was as if my 
heart would dissolve itself in weeping. 

The remainder of the letter was written some days 
later. It was the last parting : — 

“ My wants draw to an end ! Madonna be praised for 
every joy which she has sent me, praised be she also for 
every woe ! In my heart is death ! the blood streams 
from it ! only once more and then it is all over. 

“ The most beautiful and the noblest maid in Venice 


3 88 


The Improvisator e. 


is your bride, the people have told me. May you be 
happy is the last wish of the dying ! I know no one in the 
world to whom I could give these lines, my last farewell, 
except to her. My heart tells me that she will come — 
tells me that a noble womanly heart will not refuse the 
last refreshing draught to her who stands on the last 
step between life and death. She will come to me. 

“ Farewell, Antonio ! my last prayer on earth, my 
first in heaven, will be for thee — for her who will be to 
thee what I never could be ! There was vanity in my 
heart — the world’s praise had set it there. Perhaps 
thou would’st never have been happy with me, else the 
Madonna would not have divided us ! 

“ Farewell ! farewell ! I feel peace in my heart — my 
suffering is over — death is near ! 

“ Pray, also, thou and Maria, for me ! 

“ Annunciata.” 

The deepest pain has no words. Stupefied — over- 
whelmed — I sat and stared at the letter, which was wet 
with my tears. Annunciata had loved me ! She was 
the invisible spirit which had conducted me to Naples. 
The letter had been from her, and not from Santa, as I 
had imagined. Annunciata had been ill, sunk in 
poverty and misery, and now she was dead — certainly 
dead ! The little note which I had given to Fulvia, 
with the words, “ I go to Naples !” and which she had 
taken to Annunciata, lay also in the packet of letters, 
together with an open letter from Bernardo, in which he 
sent her his farewell, and announced to her his deter- 
mination to leave Rome and enter into foreign service, 
but without saying what. 

To Maria had she given the packet of letters for me ; 
she had called Maria my bride. That empty report had 


The Im p rovisa tore . 


389 


also reached Annunciata, and she had believed it, had 
called Maria to her. What could she have said to her ? 

I recalled to mind with what anxiety Maria had 
spoken to me, — thus she also knew what Venice 
imagined about us both. I had not courage to talk to 
her about it, and yet I must do it, she was really mine 
and Annunciata’s good angel. 

I took a gondola, and was soon in the room where 
Rosa and Maria sat together at their work. Maria was 
embarrassed, nor had I courage to say what solely and 
alone occupied me. I answered at random to every 
question, sorrow oppressed my soul ; when the kind- 
hearted Signora Rosa took my hand, and said, — 

“ There is some great trouble on your mind — have 
confidence in us. If we cannot console, we can sorrow 
with a true friend.” 

“ You really know everything !” exclaimed I, giving 
voice to my distress. 

“ Maria, perhaps !” replied the aunt ; “ but I know as 
good as nothing.” 

“ Rosa !” said Maria, beseechingly, and caught her 
hand. 

“No, before you I have no secrets !” said I ; “I will 
tell you everything.” 

And I then told them about my poor childhood, about 
Annunciata, and my flight to Naples ; but when I saw 
Maria sitting with folded hands before me, as Flaminia 
had sat, and as yet another being beside had sat, I was 
silent. I had not courage to speak of Lara and of the 
dream -picture in the cave, in the presence of Maria ; 
besides, it seemed not to belong to the history of 
Annunciata. I went on, therefore, directly to our meet- 
ing in Venice and our last conversation. Maria pressed 
her hands before her eyes and wept. Rosa was silent. 

“ Of all this I knew nothing— divined nothing !” said 


390 


The Improvisatore. 


she, at length. “ A letter came,” continued she, “ from 
the Hospital of the Sisters of Charity to Maria ; a dying 
woman, it said, besought her, by all the saints — by her 
own heart, to come to her. I accompanied her in the 
gondola, but as she was to be alone, I remained with 
the sisters whilst she went to the bed of the dying.” 

“ I saw Annunciata,” said Maria. “ You have received 
that which she has commissioned me to convey to you.” 

“ And she said ?” I asked. 

“ ‘ Give that to Antonio, the improvisatore ; but, 
unknown to any one.’ She spoke of you, spoke as a 
sister might — as a good spirit might speak ; and I saw 
blood — blood upon her lips. She cast up her eyes in 
death, and — ” Here Maria burst into tears. 

I silently pressed her hand to my lips ; thanked her 
for her pity, for her goodness, in going to Annunciata. 

I hurried away, and, entering a church, prayed for the 
dead. 

Never did I meet with such great kindness and friend- 
ship as from this moment in the house of the Podesta. 
I was a beloved brother to Rosa and Maria, who 
endeavored to anticipate every wish ; even in the veriest 
trifles I saw evidences of their solicitude for me. 

I visited Annunciata’s grave. The churchyard was 
a floating ark, with high walls — an island garden of the 
dead. I saw the green plot before me, marked with 
many black crosses. I found the grave for which I 
sought. “ Annunciata ” was its sole inscription. A 
fresh, beautiful garland of laurels hung on the cross, 
which marked it unquestionably a gift from Maria and 
Rosa. I thanked them both for this kind attention. 

How lovely was Maria in her gentleness ! What a 
wonderful resemblance had she to my image of beauty, 
Lara ! When she cast down her eyes, it seemed to me 


The Improvisatore . 


39i 


that they were, spite of the improbability, the same 
person. 

About this time I received a letter from Fabiani. I 
was now in the fourth month of my residence in Venice. 
This astonished him. He thought that I should not 
spend longer time in this city, but visit Milan or Genoa. 
But he left it quite to me to do whatever seemed the 
best to myself. 

That which detained me thus in Venice was that it 
was my city of sorrow. As such it had greeted me on 
my arrival, and here my life’s best dream had dissolved 
itself in tears. Maria and Rosa were to me affectionate 
sisters, Poggio a love-worthy, faithful friend. I should 
find nobody like them ; but, nevertheless, we must part. 
In this my sorrow found its nourishment. Yes, hence 
— hence ! — that was my resolve ! 

I wished to prepare Rosa and Maria for it ; it was 
necessary that they should be made acquainted with it. 
In the evening I was sitting with them in the great 
hall, where the balcony goes over the canal. Maria 
wished that the servant should bring in the lamp, but 
Rosa thought that it was much more charming in the 
clear moonlight. 

“ Sing to us, Maria,” said she ; “ sing to us that beau- 
tiful song which thou learnt about the Troglodite cave. 
Let Antonio hear it.” 

Maria sang a singular, quiet cradle-song to a low, 
strange melody. The words and the air melted one 
into the other, and revealed to heart and thought the 
home of beauty under the ethereally clear waves. 

“ There is something so spiritual, so transparent, in the 
whole song !” said Rosa. 

“ Thus must spirits reveal themselves out of the 
body !” exclaimed I. 


39 2 


The Improvisatore . 


“ Thus floats the world’s beauty before the blind !” 
sighed Maria. 

“ But then it is not really so beautiful when the eyes 
can see it ?” asked Rosa. 

“ Not so beautiful, and yet more beautiful !” replied 
Maria. 

Rosa then told me what I had already heard from 
Poggio that Maria had been blind, and that her brother 
had given sight to her eyes. Maria mentioned his 
name with love and gratitude ; told me how childish her 
ideas had then been about the world around her — about 
the warm sun, about human beings, about the broad- 
leaved cactuses, and the great temples. “ In Greece 
there are many more than there are here,” remarked 
she, suddenly ; and there was a pause in her rela- 
tion. 

“ How the strong and the beautiful in sound,” con- 
tinued she, “ suggested to me colors. The violets were 
blue — the sea and heaven were blue also, they told me ; 
and the fragrance of the violet taught me how beautiful 
heaven and the sea must be. When the bodily eye is 
dead, the spiritual eye sees more clearly. The blind 
learn to believe in a spirit world. Everything which 
they behold reveals itself from this !” 

I thought of Lara with the blue violets in her dark 
hair. The fragrance of the orange-trees led me also to 
Paestum where violets and red gillyflowers grow among 
the ruins of the Tertiple. We talk about the great 
beauty of nature, about the sea and the mountains, and 
Rosa longed after her beautiful Naples. 

I then told them that my departure was near, and 
that I, in a few days, must leave Venice. 

“You will leave us?” said Rosa, astonished. “We 
had not the slightest idea of that.” 


The Improvisatore . 


393 


“Will you not come again to Venice?” inquired 
Maria ; “ come again to see your friends T 

“Yes, yes, certainly!” exclaimed I. And although 
that had not been my plan, I assured them that, from 
Milan, I would return to Rome by Venice. But did I 
myself believe so ? 

I visited Annunciata’s grave, took a leaf from the 
garland which hung there, as if I should never return ; 
and that was the last time that I came there ! That 
which the grave preserved was dust. In my heart 
existed the impression of its beauty, and the spirit dwelt 
with the Madonna, whose image it was. Annunciata’s 
grave, and the little room where Rosa and Maria 
extended to me their hands at parting, alone were 
witness to my tears and my grief. 

“May you find a noble wife who will supply the loss 
which your heart has sustained !” said Rosa, at our 
parting. “ Bring her some time to my arms. I know 
that I shall love her, as you have taught me to love 
Annunciata !” 

“ Come back happy !” said Maria. 

I kissed her hand, and her eyes rested with an 
expression of deep emotion upon me. The Podesta 
stood with a sparkling glass of champagne, and Poggio 
struck up a merry traveling song about the rolling 
wheel and the bird’s song in the free landscape. He 
accompanied me in the gondola as far as Fusina. The 
ladies waved their white handkerchiefs from the 
balcony. 

How much might not happen before we saw each 
other again ? Poggio was merry to an excess ; but I 
felt very plainly that it was not natural. He pressed 
me vehemently to his breast, and said that we would 
correspond industriously. “ Thou wilt tell me about 


394 


The Improvisatore. 


thy beautiful bride, and don’t forget about our wager !” 
said he. 

“ How canst thou jest at this moment ?” said I. 
“ Thou knowest my determination !” 

We parted. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

the REMARKABLE OBJECTS IN VERONA THE CATHEDRAL 

OF MILAN — THE MEETING AT THE TRIUMPHAL ARCH 

OF NAPOLEON — DREAM AND REALITY 

THE BLUE GROTTO. 

The carriage rolled away. I saw the green Bronta, 
the weeping willows, and the distant mountains. 
Towards evening I arrived in Padua. The church of 
St. Antonius, with its seven proud domes, saluted me in 
the clear moonlight. All was animation and cheerful- 
ness under the colonnade of the street ; but I felt 
myself a stranger and alone. 

In the sunshine all appeared to me still more unpleas- 
ing. Onward, yet farther onward ! Traveling enlivens 
and chases away sorrow, thought I, and the carriage 
rolled forward. 

The country was all a great plain, but freshly green, as 
the Pontine Marshes. The lofty weeping willows hung, 
like great cascades, over the gardens, around which 
stood altars with the holy image of the Madonna ; some 
of them were bleached by time ; the walls even on which 
they were painted were sunk in ruins, but in other 
places also stood newly painted pictures of the Mother 
and Child. I remarked that the vetturino lifted his hat 
to the new pictures, the old and faded he seemed not to 


The Im provisa to 7'e. 


395 


observe. It amused me wonderfully. Perhaps, how- 
ever, I saw more in it than there really was. Even the 
holy, pure image of the Madonna herself was over- 
looked and forgotten because the earthly colors were 
faded. 

I passed through Vicenza, where the art of Palladio 
could cast no ray of light over my troubled heart — on 
to Verona, the first of all the cities which attracted 
me. The amphitheatre led me back to Rome, and 
reminded me of the Coliseum ; it is a pretty little model 
of that, more distinct, and not laid waste by barbarians. 
The spacious colonnades are converted into warehouses, 
and in the middle of the arena was erected a little booth 
of linen and boards, where a little theatrical company, 
as I was told, gave representations. I went in the 
evening. The Veronese sat upon the stone benches of 
the amphitheatre, where their fathers had sat before 
them. In this little theatre was acted “ La Cenerentola'' 
It was the company with which Annunciata had been. 
Aurelia performed the principal parts in the opera. 
The whole was miserable and melancholy to witness. 
The old, antique theatre stood like a giant around the 
fragile wooden booth. A contre-dance completely 
drowned the few instruments ; the public applauded, 
and called for Aurelia. I hastened away. Outside all 
was still. The giant building cast a broad, dark shadow 
amid the strong moonlight. 

They told me of the families of the Capuleti and 
Montecchi, whose strife divided two loving hearts, 
which death again united — the history of Romeo and 
Juliet. I went up to the Palazzo Capuleti, where 
Romeo, for the first time, saw his Juliet, and danced 
with her. The house is now an inn. I ascended the 
steps up which Romeo had stolen to love and death. 
The great dancing-hall stood there yet, with its discol- 


39 6 


The Improvisatore . 


ored pictures on the walls, and the great windows down 
to the floor ; but all around lay hay and straw ; beside 
the walls were ranged lime-barrels, and in a corner were 
thrown down horse-furniture and field-implements. 
Here had once the proudest race of Verona floated to 
the sound of billowy music — here had Romeo and 
Juliet dreamed love’s short dream. I deeply felt how 
empty is all human glory ; felt that Flaminia had taken 
hold on the better part, and that Annunciata had 
obtained it, and I regarded my dead as happy. 

My heart throbbed as with the fire of fever ; I had no 
rest. To Milan ! thought I ; there is now my home ; 
and I yearned towards it. Towards the end of the 
month I was there. No ! there I found that I was much 
better at Venice, much more at home ! I felt that I 
was alone, and yet would make no acquaintance, would 
deliver none of the letters of introduction with which I 
had been furnished. 

The gigantic theatre, with its covered boxes, which 
range themselves in six rows, one above another, the 
whole immense space, which yet is so seldom filled, had 
in it, to me, something desolative and oppressive. I 
once was there, and heard Donizetti’s Torquato Tasso. 
To the most honored singer, who was called for, and 
called for again, it seemed to me, that, like our gloomy 
magician, I could prophesy a future full of misery. I 
wished her rather to die in this her beauty and the 
moment of her happiness ; then the world would weep 
over her, and not she over the world. Lovely children 
danced in the ballet; my heart bled at their beauty. 
Nevermore will I go to La Scala. 

Alone, I wandered about the great city, through the 
shadowy streets ; alone I sat in my chamber, and began 
to compose a tragedy, “ Leonardo da Vinci /* here he had 
actually lived ; here I had seen his immortal work, 


The Improvisatore. 


397 


“The Last Supper.” The legend of his unfortunate 
love of his beloved, from whom the convent separated 
him, was indeed a re-echo of my own life. I thought of 
Flaminia, of Annunciata, and wrote that which my 
heart breathed. But I missed Poggio, missed Maria 
and Rosa. My sick heart longed for their affectionate 
attention and friendship. I wrote to them, but received 
no answer, neither did Poggio keep his beautiful 
promise of letters and friendship, he was like all the 
rest ; we call them friends, and in absence, knit our- 
selves firmer to them ! 

I went daily to the cathedral of Milan, that singular 
mountain which was torn out of the rocks of Carrara. I 
saw the church for the first time in the clear moonlight; 
dazzlingly white stood the upper part of it in the 
infinitely blue ether. Round about, wherever I looked, 
from every corner, upon every little tower with which 
the building was, as it were, overlaid, projected marble 
figures. Its interior dazzled me more than St. Peter’s 
Church ; the strange gloom, the light which streamed 
through the painted windows — the wonderful mystical 
world which revealed itself here— yes, it was a church 
of God ! 

I had been a month in Milan before I ascended the roof 
of the church. The sun blazed upon its shining white 
surface ; the towers stood aloft, like churches or chapels 
upon a mighty marble space. Milan lay far below ; and 
all around me presented themselves statues of saints 
and martyrs which my eye could not see from the 
streets below. I stood up just by the mighty figure of 
Christ, which terminates the whole gigantic building. 
Towards the north arose the lofty, dark Alps ; towards 
the south, the pale blue Apennins ; and between these 
an immense green plain, as if it was the first Campagna 
of Rome changed into a blooming garden. I looked 


398 


The Improvisatore . 


towards the east, where Venice lay. A flock of birds of 
passage, in a long line, like a waving riband, sped 
thitherward. I thought of my beloved ones there, of 
Poggio, Rosa, and Maria ; and a painful yearning awoke 
in my breast. I could not but remember the old story 
which I had heard, as a child, on that evening, when I 
went with my mother and Mariuccia from Lake Nemi, 
where we had seen the bird of prey, and where Fulvia 
had shown herself ; the story which Angelina had told 
about the poor Therese of Olivano, who wasted away 
with care and longing after the slender Giuseppe, and 
how he was drawn from his northern journey beyond 
the mountains, and how the old Fulvia cooked herbs in 
a copper vessel, which she had made to simmer for 
many days over the glowing coals, until Giuseppe was 
seized upon by longing, and was compelled to go home ; 
night and day to speed back without stop or stay, to 
where her vessel was boiling with holy herbs, and a 
lock of his and of Therese’ s hair. 

I felt that magic power within my breast which drew 
me away, and which is called, by the inhabitants of 
mountain regions, home-sickness, but this it was not in 
me ; Venice was really not my home. My mind was 
strongly affected ; I fell, as it were, ill, and descended 
from the roof of the church. 

I found in my room a letter — it was from Poggio ; at 
length there was a letter ! It appeared from the letter 
that he had written an earlier one, which, however, I 
had not received. Everything was merry and well in 
Venice, but Maria had been ill — very ill ; they had all 
been anxious and in great trouble, but now all was 
over ; she had left her bed, although she did not ven- 
ture to go out yet. Hereupon Poggio joked with me, 
and inquired whether any young Milanese lady had 


The Improviscttore , 


399 


captivated me, and besought me not to forget the 
champagne and our wager. 

The whole letter was full of fun and merriment, very 
different to my own state of mind, and yet it gladdened 
me ; it was actually as if I saw the happy, fun-loving 
Poggio. How in the world can we form a true judg- 
ment of men and things ? It was said of him that he 
went with a deep, secret sorrow in his breast, and that 
his gaiety was only a masquerade dress ; that is nature. 
It was said that Maria was my bride, yet how far from 
my heart ! I longed, it is true, for her, and for Rosa 
also ; but nobody said that I was in love with old Sig- 
nora Rosa. Oh, that I were but in Venice ! Here I 
cannot stay any longer ! And again I jested over this 
strange voice within my breast. 

In order to get rid of these thoughts, I went out of 
the gate above the Piazza d’Ami to the triumphal arch 
of Napoleon — the Porta Sempione, as it is called. Here 
were the workmen in full activity. I went in through 
a hole in the low wall of boards which enclosed the 
whole of the unfinished building ; two large, new horses 
of marble stood upon the ground, the grass grew high 
above the pedestals, and all around lay marble blocks 
and carved capitals. 

A stranger stood there with his guide, and wrote 
down in a book the details which were given him ; he 
looked like a man in about his thirtieth year. I passed 
him ; he had two Neapolitan orders on his coat ; he was 
looking up at the building— I knew him— it was Ber- 
nardo. He also saw me, sprang towards me, clasped 
me in his arms, and laughed aloud. 

“ Antonio !” exclaimed he, “ thanks for the last ; it 
was, indeed, a merry parting, with firing and effect ! 
We are, however, friends now, I imagine ?” 

An ice-cold sensation passed through my blood, 


400 


The Im p ro vis a to re. 


“ Bernardo,” exclaimed I, “ do we see one another 
again in the north, and near the Alps ?” 

“ Yes, and I come from the Alps mountains,” said he — 
“ from the glaciers and the avalanches ! I have seen 
the world’s end up there in those cold mountains !” 

He then told me that he had been the whole summer 
in Switzerland. The German officers in Naples had 
told him so much about the greatness of Switzerland, 
and it was such a very easy thing to take a flight from 
Naples to Genoa, and then one gets so far ! He had 
been to the valley of Chamouni, ascended Mont Blanc, 
and the Jungfrau, “ La Bella Bagezza” as he called it. 
“ She is the coldest that ever I knew,” said he. 

We went together to the new amphitheatre, and back 
to the city. He told me that he was now on his way to 
Genoa, to visit his bride and her parents ; that he was 
just upon the point of becoming a sober, married man ; 
invited me to accompany him, and whispered, laughing, 
into my ear : 

“ You tell me nothing about my tame bird, about our 
little singer, and all those histories ! You have now 
learned yourself that they belong to a young heart’s 
history ; my bride might otherwise easily get a head- 
ache, and she is quite too dear to me for that !” 

It was impossible for me to mention Annunciata to 
him, for I felt that he had never loved her as I had 
done. 

“ Now, go with me !” urged he. “ There are pretty 
girls in Genoa, and now you are become old and rational, 
and have got some taste for these things. Naples has 
been the making of you ! Is it not so ? In about three 
days I shall set off ; go with me, Antonio !” 

“ But I set off to-morrow morning also,” said I invol- 
untarily. I had not thought of this before, but now the 
thing was said. 


The Improvisator e. 


401 


“ Where ?” inquired he. 

“ To Venice !” replied I. 

“ But you can change your plan !” continued he, and 
pressed his own very much upon me. 

I assured him so strongly about the necessity of my 
journey, that I also began to see myself that I must go. 

I had within myself neither peace nor rest, and 
arranged everything for my journey, as if it had been 
for a long time my determination. 

It was the invisible guidance of God’s wonderful 
Providence which led me away from Milan. It was 
impossible for me to sleep at night ; I lay for some 
hours on my bed in a short, wild fever-dream, in a state 
of waking sickness. “To Venice!” cried the voice 
within my breast. 

I saw Bernardo for the last time ; bade him to salute 
his bride for me ; and then flew back again whither I 
had come two months before. 

At some moments it seemed to me as if I had taken 
poison, which thus fomented in my blood. An inexpli- 
cable anxiety drove me onwards — what coming evil was 
at hand ? 

I approached Fusina, saw again Venice, with its gray 
walls, the tower of St. Marks, and the Lagunes ; and 
then all at once banished my strange unrest, my yearn- 
ing and anxiety, and there arose within me another 
feeling, wdiat shall I call it — shame of myself, displeasure, 
dissatisfaction. I could not comprehend what it was that 
I wanted here, felt how foolishly I had behaved, and it 
seemed to me that everybody must say so, and that 
everybody would ask me, “ What art thou doing again in 
Venice ?” 

I went to my old lodgings ; dressed myself in haste, 
and felt that I must immediately pay a visit to Rosa and 
Maria, however enfeebled and excited I might feel. 


402 


The Imp ro v is a to re. 


What, however, would they say to my arrival ? 

The gondola neared the palace ; what strange 
thoughts can enter the human breast ! What if thou 
shouldst now enter at a moment of festivity and rejoic- 
ing ? What if Maria be a bride ? But, what then ? I 
really did not love her ! I had said so* a thousand times 
to myself ; a thousand times had assured Poggio, and 
every one else who had said so, that I did not ! 

I saw once more the gray-green walls, the lofty win- 
dows, and my heart trembled with yearning. I entered 
the house. Solemnly and silently the servant opened 
the door, expressed no surprise at my arrival ; it seemed 
to me that quite another subject occupied him. 

“The Podesta is always at home to you, signore !” 
said he. 

A stillness, as of death, reigned in the great hall ; the 
curtains were drawn. Here had Desdemona lived, 
thought I ; here, perhaps, suffered ; and yet Othello suf- 
fered more severely than she did. How came I now to 
think of this old history ? 

I went to Rosa’s apartment ; here also the curtains 
were drawn — it was in a half-darkness, and I felt again 
that strange anxiety which had accompanied me in the 
whole journey, and had driven me back to Venice. A 
trembling went through all my limbs, and I was obliged 
to support myself that I did not fall. 

The Podesta then came in ; he embraced me, and 
seemed glad to see me again. I inquired after Maria 
and Rosa — and it seemed to me that he became very 
grave. 

“ They are gone away !” said he ; “ have made a little 
journey with another family to Padua. They will 
return either to-morrow or the day after.” 

I know not wherefore, but I felt as if I doubted his 
word ; perhaps it was the fever in my blood, the wild 


The Improvisatore. 


403 


fever, which my pain of mind had increased, and which 
now approached the period of its breaking f^rth. This 
it was which had operated upon my who 3 spiritual 
being, and had occasioned the journey back. 

At the supper-table I missed Rosa and Maria ; nor 
was the Podesta as he used to be. It was, he said, a 
lawsuit which had rather put. him out of sorts, but it 
was nothing of consequence. 

“ Poggio is not anywhere to be met with, either,” said 
he. “ All misfortunes come together ; and you are ill ! 
Yes, it is a merry soiree ! we must see if the wine 
cannot cheer us up ! But you are pale as death !” 
exclaimed he, all at once, and I felt that everything 
vanished from my sight. I had fallen into a state of 
unconsciousness. 

It was a fever, a violent nervous fever. 

I only know that I found myself in a comfortable 
darkened chamber ; the Podesta was sitting beside me, 
and said that I should remain with him, and that I 
should soon be well again. Rosa, he said, should nurse 
me ; but he never mentioned Maria. 

I was in a state of consciousness, as it were between 
asleep and awake. After a time I heard it said that the 
ladies had arrived, and that I should, soon see them ; 
and I did see Rosa, but she was much troubled ; it 
seemed to me that she wept, but that, indeed, could not 
be for me, for I felt myself already much stronger. 

It was evening; there prevailed an anxious silence 
around me, and yet a movement ; they did not answer 
my questions distinctly ; my hearing seemed quickened, 
I heard that many people were moving about in the 
hall below me, and I heard too the strokes of the oars 
of many gondolas, and the reality was made known to 
me as I half slumbered — they imagined that I was 
asleep. 


404 


The Improvisator e. 


Maria was dead. Poggio had mentioned to me her 
illness, and had said that now she was recovered, but 
a relapse had caused her death. She was going to be 
buried this evening, but all this they had concealed 
from me. Maria’s death, like an invisible power, had 
weighed upon my life ! For her was that strange 
anxiety which I had felt, but I had come too late ; I 
should behold her no more. She was now in the world 
of spirits, to which she had always belonged. Rosa had 
certainly adorned her coffin with violets ; the blue, 
fragrant flowers which she loved so much, now that she 
slept with the flowers. 

I lay immovably still, as in a death sleep, and heard 
Rosa thank God for it ; she then went away from me ; 
there was not a single creature in the room ; the even- 
ing was dark, and I felt my strength wonderfully invig- 
orated. I knew that in the Dei-frari church was the 
burial-place of the Podesta’s family, and that during 
the night the dead would be placed bef :>re the altar. I 
must see her — I rose up — my fever was gone — I was 
strong. I threw my cloak around me — no one saw me 
and I entered a gondola. 

My whole thought was of the dead. The church 
doors were closed, because it was long after the Ave 
Maria. I knocked at the sexton’s door ; he knew me 
had seen me before in the church with the Podesta’s 
family, and showed me within the graves of Canova 
and Titian. 

“ Do you wish to see the dead ?” asked he, guessing 
my thoughts ; “ she lies at the altar in the open coffin ; 
to-morrow she will be placed in the chapel.” 

He lighted candles, took out a bunch of keys, and 
opened a little side-door ; our footsteps re-echoed 
through the lofty, silent vault. He remained behind, 
and I went slowly through the long, empty passage ; a 


The Improvisa tore . 


405 


lamp burned feebly and dimly upon the altar before 
the image of the Madonna. The white marble statues 
around the tomb of Canova stood like the dead in their 
shrouds, silently and with uncertain outlines. Before 
the principal altar three lights were burning. I felt no 
anxiety, no pain — it was as if I myself belonged also to 
the dead, and that I was now entering into my own 
peculiar home. I approached the altar ; the fragrance 
of violets was diffused around ; the rays of light fell 
from the lamp into the open coffin down upon the dead. 
It was Maria ; she seemed to sleep ; she lay like a 
marble image of beauty scattered over with violets. 
The dark hair was bound upon the forehead, in which 
was placed a bouquet of violets ; the closed eyes, the 
image of perfect peace and beauty, seized upon my 
soul. It was Lara whom I saw, as she sat in the ruins 
of the temple, when I impressed a kiss upon her brow ; 
but she was a dead marble statue, without life and 
warmth. 

“ Lara !” exclaimed I, “ in death thy closed eyes, thy 
silent lips speak to me ; I know thee — have known 
thee in Maria ! My last thought in life is death with 
thee !” 

My heart found relief in tears ; I wept ; my tears fell 
upon the countenance of the dead, and I kissed the 
tears away. 

“ All have left me !” sighed I ; “ thou also, the last of 
whom my heart dreamed ! Not as for Annunciata, not 
as for Flaminia, burned my soul for thee ! — it was the 
pure, true love, which angels feel, that my heart 
cherished for thee ; and I did not believe that it was 
love, because it was more spiritual than my outward 
thought ! Never have I understood it— never ventured 
to express it to thee ! Farewell thou ! the last, my 
heart’s bride ! Blessed be thy slumber !” 


406 


The Improvisatore . 


I pressed a kiss upon her brow. 

“My soul’s bride !” continued I, “to no woman shall 
I give my hand. Farewell ! farewell !” 

I took off my ring, placed it on Lara’s finger, and 
lifted my eyes to the invisible God above us. At that 
moment a horror passed through my blood, for it 
seemed to me as if the hand of the dead. re turned the 
pressure of mine ; it was no mistake. I fixed my eyes 
upon her ; the lips moved ; everything around me 
was in motion ; I felt that my hair rose upon my head. 
Horror, the horror of death, paralyzed my arms and my 
feet ; I could not escape. 

“ Lara ! Lara !” I cried, and all was night before my 
eyes, but it seemed to me that the organ played a soft, 
touching melody. A hand passed softly over my head ; 
rays of light forced their way to my eyes ; everything 
became so clear, so bright ! 

“Antonio!” whispered Rosa, and I saw her. The 
lamp burned upon the table, and beside my bed lay a 
kneeling figure, and wept. I saw then that I beheld 
reality before me, that my horror was only that of wild 
fever-dream. 

“ Lara ! Lara !” exclaimed I. She pressed her hands 
before her eyes. But what had I said in my delirium ? 
This thought stood vividly before my remembrance, 
and I read in Maria’s eyes that she had been witness to 
my heart’s confessions. 

“ The fever is over/’ whispered Rosa. 

“Yes ; I feel myself much better — much better,” 
exclaimed I, and looked at Maria. She rose up, and 
was about to leave the room. 

“ Do not go from me I” I prayed, and stretched forth 
my hands after her. 

She remained, and stood silently blushing before me. 

“ I dreamt that you were dead,” said I. 


The Improvisatore . 


407 


“ It was a delirious dream !” exclaimed Rosa, and 
handed to me the medicine which the physician had 
prescribed. 

“ Lara, Maria, hear me !” I cried. “ It is no delirious 
dream ! I feel life returned back to my blood ! My 
whole life must then have been a strange dream. We 
have seen one another before ! You heard my voice 
before, at Paestum, at Capri. You know it again, Lara ! 
I feel it ; life is so short ; why, then, not offer to each 
other our hands in this brief meeting ?” 

I extended my hand towards her ; she pressed it to 
her lips. 

“ I love thee ; have always loved thee !” said I ; and, 
without a word, she sank on her knees beside me 

Love, says the Mythi, brought chaos into order, and 
created the world. Before every loving heart creation 
renews itself. From Maria’s eyes I drank in life and 
health. She loved me. When a few days were passed 
we stood alone in the little room, where the orange-trees 
breathed forth fragrance from the balcony. Here she 
sung to me, but in softer tones, more spiritual and 
deeper, sounded to my ear the confession of the noblest 
of hearts. I had made no mistake ; Lara and Maria 
were one and the same person. 

.“I have always loved thee!” said she. “Thy song 
awoke longing and pain in my breast, when I was blind 
and solitary, with my dreams, and knew only the 
fragrance of the violets. And the warm sun ! how its 
beams burned thy kiss into my forehead into my 
heart ! The blind possess only a spiritual world ; and 
in that I beheld thee ! The night after I heard thy 
improvisation in the Temple of Neptune, at Paestum, I 
had a singular dream, which blended itself with reality. 
A gipsy- woman had told me my fortune that I should 


408 


The Improvisator e. 


again receive my sight. I dreamed about her, dreamed 
that she said I must go with Angelo, my foster-father, 
and sail across the sea to Capri ; that in the Witch’s 
Cave I should receive again the light of my eyes ; that 
the Angel of Life would give me herbs, which, like 
Tobias’s should enable my eyes again to behold God’s 
world. The dream was repeated again the same night. 
I told it to Angelo, but he shook his head. 

“ The next night in the morning-hour, he dreamed it 
himself. On which he said, ‘ Blessed be the power of 
Madonna ; the bad spirits must even obey her !’ 

“We arose ; he spread the sail, and we flew across the 
sea. The day passed, evening came, and night, but I 
was in a strange world, heard how the Angel of Life 
pronounced my name — and the voice sounded like thine. 
He gave us herbs and great riches — treasures collected 
from the different countries of the world. 

“We boiled the herbs ; but no light came to my eyes. 
One day, however, Rosa’s brother came to Paestum ; he 
came into our cottage, where I lay, and affected by the 
yearning desire which I expressed to see God’s beautiful 
world, he promised me sight to my eyes, took me with 
him to Naples, and there I saw the great magnificence 
of life. He and Rosa became very fond of me ; they 
opened to me another and a more beautiful world — that 
of the soul. I remained with them ; they called me 
Maria, after a beloved sister, who was dead in Greece. 

“ One day Angelo brought to me the rich treasure, 
and said that it was mine ; his death, he said, was at 
hand ; that he had expended his last strength in bring- 
ing me my own inheritance ; and his words were the 
last of a dying man. I saw him expire — him, the only 
protector of my poverty ! 

“ One evening, Rosa’s brother inquired from me very 
seriously about my old foster-father, and the treasure 


The Improvisatore . 


409 


which he had brought. I knew no more than that which 
he had said, that the spirit in the glittering cave had 
given him this. I knew that we had always lived in 
poverty. Angelo could not be a pirate — he was so pious ; 
every little gift he divided with me.” 

I then told her how singularly her life’s adventure had 
blended itself with mine ; how I had §een her with the 
old man in the wonderful grotto. That the old man 
himself took the heavy vessel I would not tell her, but I 
told her that I gave her the herbs. 

“ But,” exclaimed she, “the spirit sank into the earth 
as it reached to me the herbs ! So Angelo told me.” 

“ It appeared so to him,” I returned ; “ I was 
debilitated ; my feet could not sustain me ; I sank on 
my knees, and then fainted among the long green 
grass.” 

That wondrously glittering world in which we had 
met was the indissoluble — the firm knot between the 
supernatural and the real. 

“ Our love is of the spiritual world !” exclaimed I ; 
“ all our love tended towards the world of spirits ; 
towards that we advance in our earthly life ; wherefore, 
then, not believe in it ? it is precisely the great reality !” 
And I pressed Lara to my heart ; she was beautiful as 
she was the first time I saw her. 

“ I recognized thee by thy voice when I first heard 
thee in Venice,” said she; “my heart impelled me 
towards thee ; I fancied even in the church, before the 
face of the Mother of God, I should have fallen at thy 
feet. I saw thee here ; learned to value thee more and 
more ; was conducted, as it were, a second time into thy 
life’s concerns, when Annunciata hailed me as thy bride ! 
But thou repelledst me ; said that thou wouldst never 
love again ! — never wouldst give thy hand to any 
woman ! — never mentioned Lara, Paestum, or Capri, 


4io 


The Improvisatore. 


when thou relatedst to us the singular destiny of thy 
life ! Then I believed that thou never hadst loved me ; 
that thou hadst forgotten that which did not lie near to 
thy heart !” 

I impressed a kiss of reconciliation upon her hand, 
and said how strangely her glance had closed my lips. 
Not until my body lay bound, as it were, for the grave, 
and my spirit itself floated into the world of spirits, in 
which our love was so wonderfully knitted together, had 
I ventured to express the thoughts of my heart. 

No stranger, only Rosa and the Podesta knew of the 
happiness of our love. How gladly would I have told 
it to Poggio. He had, during my sickness, visited me 
many times during the day. I saw that he looked 
extremely pale, when, after I had left my room, I 
pressed him to my heart in the clear light of the sun. 

“ Come to us this evening, Poggio,” said the Podesta 
to him ; “ but come without fail. You will only find 
here the family, and Antonio, and two or three other 
friends.” 

All was festally arranged. 

“ It is really as if it were to be a nun’s day,” said Poggio. 

The Podesta conducted him and the other friends to 
the little chapel, where Lara gave me her hand. A 
bouquet of blue violets was fastened in her dark hair. 
The blind girl of Paestum stood seeing, and doubly 
beautiful, before me. She was mine. 

All congratulated us. The rejoicing was great. 
Poggio sang merrily, and drank health upon health. 

“ I have lost my wager,” said I, “ but I lose it gladly, 
because my loss is the winning of my happiness,” and I 
impressed a kiss on Lara’s lips. 

The gladness of the others sounded like tumultuous 
music ; mine and Lara’s was silent ; great joy, like 


The Improvisatore , 


411 


great sorrow, has no language so eloquent, so expressive 
as silence. * 

“ Life is no dream,” thought I, “ and the happiness of 
love is a reality.” 

Two days after the bridal, Rosa accompanied us from 
Venice. We went to the estate which had been pur- 
chased for Maria. I had not seen Poggio since the bri- 
dal evening. I now received a letter from him which 
said merely, — 

“ I won the wager, and yet I lost !” 

He was not to be met with in Venice. After some 
time my conjecture became certainty ; he had loved 
Lara. Poor Poggio ! thy lips sang of gladness, but 
thoughts of death filled thy heart ! 

Francesca thought Lara very charming ; I myself had 
won infinitely in this journey, and she, Excellenza, and 
Fabiani all applauded my choice. Habbas Dahdah even 
smiled over his whole face as he congratulated me. 

Of the old acquaintance there is yet living, in 1837, 
Uncle Peppo ; he sits upon the Spanish Steps, where for 
many years certainly, he will say his “ bon giorno !” 

On the 6th of March, 1834, a great many strangers 
were assembled in the Hotel at Pagani, on the island of 
Capri. The attention of all was attracted by a young 
Calabrian lady of extraordinary beauty, whose lovely 
dark eyes rested on her husband, who gave her his arm. 
It was I and Lara. We had now been married three 
happy years, and now were visiting, on a journey to 
Venice, the island of Capri, where the most wonderful 
event of our life occurred, and where it would clear 
itself up. 

In one corner of the room stood an old lady and held 
•a little child in her arms. A foreign gentleman, tolera- 
bly tall, and somewhat pale, with strong features, and 
dressed in a blue frock-coat, approached the child, 


412 


The Improvisator e. 


laughed with it, and was transported with its loveliness ; 
he spoke French, but to the child a few Italian words ; 
gave merry leaps to make it laugh ; and then gave it 
his mouth to kiss. He asked what was its name ? and 
the old lady, my beloved Rosa, said it was Annunciata. 

“ A lovely name !” said he, and kissed the little one — 
mine and Lara’s.” 

I advanced to him ; he was Danish ; there was still a 
countryman of his in the room, a grave little man, with 
a wise look, and dressed in a white surtout. I accosted 
them politely; they were countrymen of Federigo and 
the great Thorwaldsen. The first, I found, was in Den- 
mark, the latter in Rome ; he, indeed, belongs to Italy, 
and not to the cold, dark north. 

We went down to the shore, and took one of those lit- 
tle boats which are calculated to take out strangers to 
the other side of the island. Each boat held but two 
persons ; one sat at each end, and the rower in the 
middle. 

I saw the clear water below us. It saluted my 
remembrance with its ethereal dimness. The rower 
worked his oars rapidly, and the boat in which I and Lara 
were seated flew forward with the speed of an arrow. 
We soon lost sight of the amphitheatre-like side of the 
island, where the green vineyards and the orange-trees 
crown the cliffs ; and, now, the rocky wall rose up per- 
pendicularly toward the sky. The water was blue as 
burning sulphur ; the blue billows struck against the 
cliffs, and over the blood-red sea-apples which grow 
below. 

We were now on the opposite side of the island, aud 
saw only the perpendicular cliffs, and in them, above 
the surface of the water, a little opening, which seemed 
not large enough for our boat. 


The Improvisatore. 


413 


“ The Witch’s Cave !” exclaimed I, and all the recol- 
lections of it awoke in my soul. 

“Yes, the Witch’s Cave !” said the rower; “it was 
called so formerly ; but now people know what it is !” 

He then told us about the two German painters, Fries 
and Kopisch, who three years before had ventured to 
swim into it, and thus discovered the extraordinary 
beauty of the place, which now all strangers visit. 

We neared the opening, which raised itself scarcely 
more than an ell above the blue, shining sea. The 
rower took in his oars ; and we were obliged to stretch 
ourselves out in the boat, which he guided with his 
hands, and we glided into a dark depth below the mon- 
strous rocks which were laved by the great Mediter- 
ranean. I heard Lara breathe heavily ; there was 
something strangely fearful in it ; but, in hardly more 
than a moment, we were in an immensely large vault, 
where all gleamed like the ether. The water below us 
was like a blue burning fire, which lighted up the whole. 
All around was cloud ; but below the water, the little 
opening by which we had entered prolonged itself 
almost to the bottom of the sea, to forty fathoms in 
depth, and expanded itself to about the same width. 
By this means the strong sunshine outside threw a light 
within upon the floor of the grotto, and streaming in 
now like a fire through the blue water, seemed to change 
it into burning spirits of wine. Everything gave back 
the reflection of this ; the rocky arch — all seemed as if 
formed of consolidated air, and to dissolve away into it. 
The water-drops which were thrown up by the motion 
of the oars, dropped red, as if they had been fresh rose 
leaves. 

It was a fairy world, the strange realm of the mind. 
Lara folded her hands ; her thoughts were like mine. 
Here had we been once before — here had the sea-rob- 


4H 


The Improviscitore. 


bers forgotten their treasure, when no one ventured to 
approach the spot. Now was every supernatural 
appearance cleared up in reality, or reality had passed 
over into the spiritual world, as it does always here in 
human life, when everything, from the seed of the 
flower to our own immortal souls, appears a miracle ; 
and yet man will not believe in miracles ! 

The little opening to the cave which had shone like a 
clear star, was now darkened for a moment, and then 
the other boats seemed to ascend as if from the deep. 
They came in to us. All was contemplation and devo- 
tion. The Protestant, as well as the Catholic, felt here 
that miracles still exist. 

“ The water rises !” said one of the seamen. “ We 
must go out, or else the opening will be closed, and then 
we shall have to remain here till the water falls again !” 

We left the singularly beaming cave ; the great open 
sea lay outstretched before us, and behind us the dark 
opening of the grotto Azzura. 


THE END. 


THE NORTHERN LIGHT 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 


E. WERNER, 


BY 

Mrs. D. M. Lowrey. 


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Bites of Animals, Galls of all kinds, 
Sitfast, Ringbone, Spavins, 

Poll Evil, Garget in Cows, Sweeney, 
Scratches or Grease, Stringhalt, 

Foot Rot in Sheep, Windgalls, 

Roup in Poultry, Fistula, 

Lame Back, Foundered Feet, 

Cracked Heels, Mange in Dogs, etc. 
Manufactured at Lockport, N. Y„ by 
MERCHANT’S GARGLING OIL CO. 

JOHN HODGE. Sec’y. 



Mothers, Save Your Children 

from diphtheria and other contagious diseases by using in your Nursery, 
Bath, and Sleeping Rooms the SHERMAN “KING” VAPORIZER, 
the ONLY Continuous and Absolute Disinfectant 

KNOWN, PROVED) AND WARRANTED. 

With its use, Cooking Odors, and that deadly, secret, invisible enemy, 
8ewer Gas, and all other Noxious Vapors, are rendered harmless* 

Pure Air 

INSURED BY USING 

The Sherman “ King” Vaporizer 

Self-Acting, 

Continuous, Inexpensive, Reliable. 

ALL IMPURE AND OFFENSIVE ODORS 
ABSOLUTELY REMOVED. 

Ench Vaporizer sold Is charged for use. 
No core except to replenish once in two 
months, nt expense of 4 to 8 cents, accord- 
ing to size. Three sizes, S3. 50, $5.00, 
$8.00. Illustrated Pamphlet free. 

SHERMAN “KING” VAPORIZER COMPANY, 
Chicopee Falls, Mass. ; Boston, New York, 
Philadelphia, or Chicago. 




c jN> PiEXION C lf^, 


<( IN VMAlSR 


f® ¥. ,ji ' M4VE rwN0 17 ~ i 


PLE* 


>^3S f:Fii:ma-,iTH :i mi i-wTnrrniTTrrTTmnnnr.i jnrTTTHnnL .iff '"' r > ' — 11 innm hit nurm; n 11 mi n innrmnnrn 11 T llV 

LONDON IOO YEARS, INTERNATIONAL AWARDS 


f.'®' A BRIGHT HEALTHFUL SKIN AND COMPLEXION ENSURED BY USING 

| PEARS’ SOAP. 

jg' AS RECOMMENDED BY THE GREATEST ENGLISH AUTHORITY ON THE SKIN, 

Prof. SIR ERASMUS WILSON, F.R.S , Pres, of the Royal Col. of Surgeons, 
, v I England, and ALL other Leading Authorities on the Skin. 


AND PREFER PEARS* SOAP TO ANY OTHER. 

The following from the world-renowned Songstress is a sample of thousands of Testimonials. 
Testimonial front Madame ADELINA PATTI, • 

“T HAVE FOUND IT MATCHLESS FOR ^ N? — ' o 

J-THE HANDS AND COMPLEXION” ^ t/C, ^ 

^Pears* Soap is for Sale through- 1 

±out the Civilized World, 










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